


Aw, Sugar, You Make My Teeth Rot

by irleragon, RoanOaks



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Insane-ish!Peter, M/M, Merc!Peter, Mercenaries, Superfamily, Superfamily (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleragon/pseuds/irleragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoanOaks/pseuds/RoanOaks
Summary: Well, Peter certainly didn't choose this.Well, he did, but still! He didn't choose this-this!In which Peter is a mercenary with like, extreme issues and and crazy amount of enhancements and has the weirdest shit and meets another mercenary named Wade about five seconds before the world explodes.Fuck you, Ultron!Also he is a deep, deep disappointment to his super dad who totally think he's dead. No, seriously, not cool. Now he has to deal with THAT to?





	1. In Which Peter's Daily Life is Revealed Before The Story Matures and Also Plot Points Are Set Up. This Is Kind Of A Prologue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Sunday but I'm really invested in this rewritten version.
> 
> Okay, so, for all those who have stuck with me since the begining, you'll know that this is ACTUALLY a rewrite. (Whoopty doo) and I promise, sincerely promise, from the bottom of my heart, that I will never do a redo like this again for this fic.
> 
> Also I'm trying to get a Tumblr page for this fic so I can put art of the au up on it. For now, I'll just stick to not describing Peter's suit because it's fucking hard to describe. I'll like, make another fic with some fanart till the Tumblr page is made.

The doorbell rings. A man pops up, he's about 5'4" and he looks like the type just ready to beat your insides in with a glance. He rushes to answer the door, Sandy blonde and hopelessly clichéd hair falling over his face as he fumbles to answer the door.

"Hey, Rich," he begins, only to be cut off by something shoving him back into the house.

"Hey, Kris!" Comes a cheery response, which is definately not Rich's voice. "How are you doing?"

"Wh-who?" Begins Kris, and he looks up to see a mask staring back at him. His whole face seems to pale.

"Oooooh, you recognize me!" The owner of the cheery voice giggles, clapping his hands in glee. "Your fear smells delicious! You do know who I am, right? Say my name! Say it! Say it!" The cheery voice chants. Kris shakes.

"S-Spin-Spind-d-dler," he stammer out, backing into a wall. "Why? How? Who? What did I do?" He questions, eyes wetting. Peter grins back.

"Your ex had a very definitive trouble with you dumping her after impregnating her. You didn't even say goodbye! A shame, really. She's rather confused why you ditched town and hopped three states, and she sent me to remind you of your responsibilities!" Peter states, and his smile is so unnerving cheery. He leans into Kris's face, and Kris let's out an undignified squeak.

"I-I," is all Kris manages. Peter wrinkles his nose at a suddenly akrid smell, and his eyes glance down.

"Couldn't hold your bladder?" He says sympathetically, "No, worries, can't blame you!"

Peter hopped backwards, grin still on his features before it hardens into a glare. "You better go back to a certain Ms. Christine Willows, Kris. Or else I might have to pay you a visit again, and that won't be pleasant at all, will it?" His grin returns with a colder pressence, and the spiders crawling all over him move to the front and stare at Kris, a few hissing. Some making small clicking noises.

Peter turns around as Kris stammers out a response, walking out the door and pulling himself up on the massive four spider legs protruding from his back. He aims his wrist, and with a small signal within his mental web, swings away.

Kris goes back to Christine the next day, sobbing in apology. Peter goes home to a safe house somewhere in Delaware and passes out.

~

Peter woke up with a groan, sitting up from the Web and untangling his long spidery legs. Swinging his human ones off the side, he plops off the hammock and lands on a floor of web, causing the whole thing to swing briefly. He rubs at his human set of eyes, the second pair remaining unblinking and unbothered by the gunky remains of sleep and exhaustion.

He looks around for some underwear, finding the usual pair of boxer briefs and pulling them on before climbing out of the Web and down to the first floor of his home, which was relatively web-free. He migrates to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee and chittering to some of the already awake spiders a morning greeting. The chittering back, and Peter pours himself a bowl of flies. Most are dead, but a few try to escape, despite their wings being torn or clipped off. Peter finds some milk to pout into the bowl and a spoon, before he pours himself some coffee and sits himself down at his breakfast bar.

It's relatively quiet as he shoves spoonfuls of fly and milk into his mouth like some for of fly-cereal, save for the clink of metal on plastic bowl or metal on mismatched teeth. The teeth being his own, as they are mismatched and jagged. Sharp, to. They cut his lip frequently, unable to properly fit in his mouth the way they're supposed to. Occasionally venom leaks from his mouth and drips into the bowl, as Peter can't control the amount of venom his glands create and the surplus often finds itself leaking out of his mouth in small little drops of varying colored liquids.

Peter swings his legs, humming to himself. It feels like a normal day, but it has a good vibe to it. He feels happy, though he's not entirely sure why. His mind keeps humming and hazing in happy little clouds that easily distract him from whatever he's supposed to be doing. Which isn't much at the moment, so he isn't to bothered by it.

There's a dull ringing sound, which quickly intensifies once he snaps back into reality. It's rather grating against his ears, and he looks around for its source. A couple of spiders skidded towards him with the phone. He chitters a thank you before answering it. Why was he answering it? Who was calling? Oh, right. It's his phone. A client, probably. Peter snaps his fingers a few times.

"Spindler here," he states somewhat dryly as he gets up from his spot at the bar, throwing the empty bowl in a sink and making his way to the basement.

"Hello, Spindler," comes a voice, "I have a job for you."

"I'd garnered that," Spindler replies, looking for his suit. He knows where all his other suits are, but the one he wants to wear is.... Spindler makes a delighted little giggle as he finds it.

"Yes, well, it shouldn't be to hard for someone of your... expertise. It's simple, I would just like you to take an item of mine and deliver it."

"That sounds simple enough," Peter giggles, "Oooh, but there's a catch, isn't there? There's always a catch!"

"Yes," the man replies. Peter frowns at the suit in his hands. Why does he have a suit? Who was he talking to? Oh, right! Merc! Client! "... for this item,"

"Sorry, couldn't catch that!" Peter responds, "Could you repeat that?"

"What? Ah, yes," the man responds, somewhat irate. "The catch is that my enemies are willing to kill for that item, which is rightfully mine."

"I don't care whose it is," Peter responds, and he frowns at the suit in his hands. Why does he have a suit? Oh, right, merc! "Give me a name and a meeting place so we can get a contract! I'll be there in a day or two. Oh, and-" Peter's voice lowers. "Don't give me a fake name."

"Yes, yes," the man responds, voice a little shaky. "Of course, of course." He leaves a name and an adress, both of which Peter almost immediately forget. But he'll remember eventually. For now, he decides he needs a shower.

The shower feels nice, sort of. Water always feels to smooth and slimy going down his skin now, and it remains him of being waterboarded far to often than his liking. But it's still nice, warm water against his skin. And fur. And spider legs.

His entire appearence was altered, large spider legs now protrude from his back, black and spindly. They're not thick, either. They're incredibly thin and don't actually look like the could do the things they do. Small furs stuck out of them, but they were bony and thin. Thinner then his arms, or perhaps around the same width.

His arms were black from his fingetris to his elbows, and his nails were long and slightly curved. He'd sharpened and painted his nails black a while ago. The black part of his arms are slightly harder, and the hair on them is thicker and a pitch black that might darker than shadows. The same on his legs, the area between his toes and knees black with thicker and darker hair, nails longer, curled, sharpened, and painted black. His fingerprints had been altered by the bite, which seemed rather long ago.

His teeth were mismatched and jagged, which meant they didn't fit right. They were sharp, to, and they cut his lips and tongue on a very frequent basis.

Peter picks up a bottle of shampoo, and it's smell fills his nose. He gets a little light headed, the smell feeling twenty times stronger with his increased senses. He swallows back the rise of dizziness and puts some in his hair, spreading it around.

The water rinses through his hair seconds later, and the shampoo washes out. His hair smells like it, and it's thankfully less strong enough to the point where he can bear it. He grabs the soap, next.

He's got a mental Web now, which is really the best way to describe it. He has the ability to sort of map out everyone by reading their minds, in the loosestop way possible. He doesn't read their thoughts, just their concepts. Like auras, almost. He's able to send communication through it like telepathic messages, but it's typically one way unless spiders here it. He can also send signals, which can be received by electronic devices if honed right.

His webs didn't work the same anymore. He could control very little of its properties, it retained the same amount of stickiness and size. But he could alter how much came out and how strong it was, though he could no longer shoot it out. He could make it come out, but shooting it was a different sorry. He'd had to redesign his Web shooters when he'd escaped. Now, they could alter his webs by adjusting the size of the thing that shoots them, and also injecting them with various substances to make them do different things. It was all controlled by his mental web, which was neat.

Peter turns off the water, shivering at the way the metal feels against his skin. To smooth. It sends goosebumps racing down his arms. He comes out, pulling a very special towel out to dry himself. His senses were beyond heightened, and anything that wasn't specifically made for them tended to send him crazy, simply because they were to much.

He dries off his hair and slips on some underwear and finds his suit. He pulls that on, enjoying the way it feels. He loved the suits. They were probably where he felt most comfortable. They felt safe, and almost homelike. He felt off without them on. Like an off white color when he ordered white.

Peter bites his lip, feeling blood and venom already drip down his chin as he checks his Web shooters. He makes his way to the armory to find the proper weapons he needs, and packs a few extras in a duffle bag. Why was he even packing weapons? Peter stops, trying to remember.

Right, right, he had a job. He needed to bring some object to another place. He was supposed to meet his client at an address. What adress? Oh, right. He remembered now. Peter pulls out the gps on his phone. The adress is nearby. He needs to bring the object to New York.

Peter heads out. This'll be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be great, please?


	2. In Which Peter Is Given An Object To Transfer but It's All Very Sketchy and Gross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a Tumblr for my art of this au.
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spindlerthemercpeterau
> 
> Yup

Peter arrives at the adress a day or so later. It had been two states away from where he'd been. He lands in a crouch on the rooftop of the strangely silent building, and when he stands up to brush himself off and inspect himself to make sure he's not particularly damaged or dirtied. (Cloak:fine. Suit:fine. Duffel bag that's full of ammo and a few spare pieces of armor or weaponry:check. Web shooters:check. Weapons:check. Shrunk weapons because he stole Hank Pym's technology:check. Phone:check. What was he doing again?)

Peter looks around the rooftop, noting the lack of security and deciding that this man was either a complete amateur or the item he's transporting isnt something he actually cares to much for. He flicks out his mental Web just to be sure, and it covers the rooftop before pulling itself back towards him. No security at all. He reaches with his senses. Three guards, all easily avoidable if he crawls in through the large windows.

Peter perks up, getting on his back legs to crawl towards the edge of the roof and flips in head first through the window. It shatters open. He flies throigh the air briefly, before he flips again so he's facing the ground and lands in a crouch. He jumps up, clapping his hands and pulling himself back onto his spider legs, pulling himself a full five feet above the ground. He claps his hands and grins.

"Hello," he calls down, and his smile slips away. Why was he here? What was he doing?

"What took you so long?" The man asks, and his memory slots back to place. Right, right! He has a job!

"Well, I was a few states away," Peter responds easily. He looks around the interior of the building. There's a large van with a group of heavily armed men and woman around it. His transport, then. There's a few guards littered around and- Peter smells the air. It smells familiar, but the smell is heavily masked by something else. Suspicion creeps in but he turns his attention back to the man, who'd started talking about the job.

"-contract is here. I'll meet you back in New York, where you'll be paid." He's saying, and he looks serious. He's trying to be intimidating. Peter frowns.

"I need some money now," he states. "You know, insurance and such. How much were you paying me, by the way?"

The man makes an irritated groan and Peter's suddenly three inches from his face. Guns clicking by the guards as Peter grabs the collars of the man's shirt. "Listen here," he states, "You're hiring me. I could kill you in an instant but I'm not because you're paying me to take an object from point A. Peter gestures around the building. To point B. Peter gestures in the vague direction he's pretty sure New York is in. You do no get to be irritated or annoyed because eyou chose me. If you ever act like that again I will kill you before your guards can blink and I'll take the fucking item myself. Clear?"

The man nods hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'm willing to pay five million," he states. Peter nods, smile already returning as he leans back on his spider legs. 

"Sounds great. Gimme the contract and I'll be right on my way."

"I-I already gave you the contract," Peter looks down at his hand. Oh! "Oh!"

Peter drops down from his spot in the air suspended by spider legs and places himself in a nearby chair. It's placed in front of a desk and oh, oh, he was supposed to sit there from the begining. Peter hums, reading over the contract.

"The transport team is mine to command," he mumbles to himself, "Can kill who I want, Weapon X-"

Peter stops. "Weapon X? What do they have to do with this?"

"Th-the item was there's," the man responds, "But I took it! It's mine now, it will be mi-"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I get it," Peter responds, waving dismissively in his direction. Weapon X would be pissed? That's good, that's great. Perfectly perfect. This was awesome.

Peter signs the contract. His handwriting comes out loopy and overdramatic. Strange, last time it was jagged and nearly ripped the paper. Curious. Peter tells the man something about bank accounts before tossing the contract at him and walking over to the van.

He's pretty sure it's purposefully soundproof. He's a little suspicious. He shrugs the suspicion off in favor of using his phone to route a course to the adress in New York. He glances up at the transport crew.

"All of you go away, I'll be fine on my own," He states. The transport crew immediately lock their jaws and gain expressions that mean they expressly disagree.

"Ah, ah," Peter states before they can voice said expresse disapproval. "That Itty bitty contract said youre mine to command so shoo, shoo," Peter makes shooting motions and hops into the drivers side. He hums, starting the car and backing up. There's a loud thump that informs him that he's hit someone, but he ignores it and turns to face the opening garage door. There's some crunching as whoever he hit continues to be crushed under the tires.

He drives away, reaching for the radio. There's no radio. What the fuck. Who makes cars or vans or trucks or whatever without fucking radios? This is- this is- this is a tragedy! Peter grumbles incoherently and pulls his phone out to blast music.

~

Within the past day, there has been nothing but boring road after boring after increasingly more boring road. Not to mention, Peter's pretty sure he's being followed and, he keeps forgetting what the fuck he's doing and why. Twice he's turned around. Five times his stopped the fucking car. And seven times he nearly blew the fucking thing up.

He glances at his mirror and finds the same stupid silver car following him. It's been hours and this is a rather empty road and the tail was a complete fucking amateur. Peter sighs, reaching into its duffel bag to grab some weapons.

A few seconds later he has guns and knives propped up in such a way where he can crawl out the window and the car eill drive itself. He crawls out the window, crawling onto the roof and holding up the gun in his hands. The driver of the car seems to realize he's been found and pulls out a gun of his own. Peter snorts. Was that a hand gun.

Peter raises the machine gun in his own hands, digging his heels into the roof of the van. He grins, pincers making a chittering sound that has all the spiders on him sitter skittering away from certain areas of his body. He digs his heels a little further, takes aim.

The driver shoots, and Peter pulls the trigger. The driver's does a funny jerry thing as bullets fill his body, and the car flips and explodes as bullets land on the tires and the sides and the hood. Peter snickers, clicking and button on the gun, and it shrinks into a small keyxhain, courtesy of stolen Pym tech. He crawls back into the drivers seat and pulls the various proper weapons away. He continues driving.

A few hours later he finds a gas station, and he parks the van in front of it. He hums as he walks in, grabbing some drinks from the conveniece store and sits in the drivers seat, legs propped on the dash as he chugs a bottle of water.

An hour of sitting there, and he feels a small bit of curiousity tug at him. What exactly was the item? His feet curl back down and his hand reaches for the door handle. He would very much like to know.

He's out of the van and halfway to the back to open the doors when there's suddenly three motorcycles speeding into the gas station. He has half a second to feel his spider sense shriek at him before he's flipping through the air, mental Web snap at his Web shooters to fire, fire, fire!

He's hurriedly reaching for his knives when he lands on the shoulders of one motorcycle minion, and he plops down to sit on the man's shoulders and snap the man's neck with his hands. (Even though it'd be so cool to use his thighs.) And he finally grabs a knife from his belt and throws it to his left. The squealing sound that follows informs him that it's hit the other's head. He turns to the last one, flipping as he shoots a web.

There's a sharp tug and a larger flip and the man's head smashes into a gas station, exploding in a gory mess of blood, brains, eyes, skin, and various other head parts. Peter jumps up, clapping his hands and looks around for any other attackers before he makes his way back to the drivers seat and drives off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments?


	3. In Which Peter Meets The Item and There's Some Violence and Cursing and A Truce? Oh and Plots Just About All Set Up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot points settling. Whoop. Whoop.

Peter is being chased.  _Again._ To say he's pissed would be an understatement. A complete understatement. He was happy to piss off Weapon X by taking one of their items and helping the man who somehow managed to steal said item transport the item but he forgot how completely and utterly irritating Weapon X could be about getting that item back.

Peter swerved the van. He's had to take a three day detour through like, seven fucking states to throw off the X Minions but it hasn't helped and now this job is taking longer than he wants. Peter grips the steering wheel tighter as four other armored vans pop up, and he slams the brakes. The entire van screeches to a halt horizontally across the street. Some other cars just peacefully passing by slam on their own brakes. Peter makes an irritated noise and kicks his door off, the hinges snapping as the door flies away.

Peter pushes himself out, using his spider legs to forcefully launch himself out of the car. He launches a web, swinging to the nearest armored van. He aims, and his legs smash into the side. The armoring dents, and the van goes flying. Theres some crashing and explosions as it flips and lands a fiery mess somewhere else. 

There's some metallic clicking sounds as people run out of the other vans with guns, aiming. Some mutants run out to. Peter groans loudly.

"Oh, come _on_ ," he complains, bending his back in a way that clearly demonstrates how flexible he is. There isn't a response. Peter's spider legs bend and he sighs, spider sense jolting him as they begin firing. The mutants charging.

An hour later and he's standing in the middle of a rather large amount of gore and explosions. He sighs. It was a good attempt, at least. Peter grumbles to himself, inspecting his bloodied cloak and suit. It was a good thing his clothing was made specifically not to tear. Otherwise he'd have to make new repairs all the time.

Peter sits back down in the drivers seat, the door missing. He left a path clear for him. He drives again.

~

Peter is pissed.

Okay he is beyond pissed.

This is bullshit. Absolute bullshit. He has another tail. Again. Peter groans in frustration. He'd finally managed to cross through a few states and was finally back on track to New York. BUT low and fucking behold he has another tail. Peter slams the brakes, irritation filling him, blood boiling.

Peter grits his teeth, pushing himself out of the car. The van was all sorts of destroyed in the front. Windshield cracked and driver's side door missing. Rear view mirrors wither missing or close to it. The seats were charred after a particularly brutal attack. He inspects his tail.

It's another van. It's dark and armored and clearly better than his shirt and supiciously soundproof windowless white van. That's weird. It's a creeper van. He is not a fucking pedophile. Peter's so far into his job he's stopped forgetting what's happening. That's like, way to far into a fucking job for his liking. 

Peter doesn't even bother to let his tail get out of their van, opening the driver side door and pulling him out. He growls ferally, ripping the tail's head off and tossing it in another direction. He inspects the van and hums happily when he notes that the keys are still in the ignition. He walks to the back of the armored back van, opening the doors to find it completely empty.

He skips over to his van, tearing the doors away. The sight he sees makes him scowl, pincers clicking angrily. He snaps his fingers. In the back of the van, a sort of tank is in the back, and a rather heavily scarred man is in it. The man's erratic heartbeat fills his ears and he can hear puffy gasps of breath. There's a glare as he looks at Peter.

Peter walks in, tearing the machinery keeping the oxygen levels at dangerously low levels. He growls somewhat ferrally. He was told he was transporting a fucking object, not a person. If he had been told he was transporting a test subject- Peter rips the locks off the strange tank. - he would have killed that man.

Peter opens it, pulling the man out of the tank.

"Who the fuck are you?" Peter snarls, anger bubbling up as he turns to the man. "Have I been transporting you this whole fucking time? God fucking-" Peter rips at the tanksame machinery angrily "-I am going to kill that fucker-" Peter hops out of the back of the van, angrily grumbling. "-Trying to hire me to transport a test subject? The fucking nerve I will do things to him he could only imagine that utter fucking bastard-"

Peter's spider sense screams at him and he sidesteps a bullet flying at him. He turns to the man, who's found his bag full of guns in the passenger seat. Peter frowns at him. How far was he from the New York adress? Oh, he's in New York. Damn.

There's amother bullet and a katana swipe. Peter dodges,  not looking up from his phone. He holds up a finger in a gesture of  _one second._ He hums to himself. An idea pops in, and he chitters to the spiders. They chitter back.

"So, wanna help me kill the man who managed to kidnap you? Mr....." Peter frowns, looking at him in confusion. Pincers sliding back into his mouth. "What's your name again?"

The man- (still naked, and damn, his body is nice as f-u-u-uck. Peter licky his lips absentmindedly before turning to reality.) -Glares, but he starts talking, eyes looking up and to the side slightly. "I don't know- of course not- what? Why-"

Peter can't hear anyone else, so he snaps his mental Web out to canvas the area for maybe someone he can't see or hear. It snaps back to him like a whip, and he makes a curious noise.

[That noise was adorable!]

[[Focus, dumb fuck!]]

[Hey!]

[[He's staring at us! Answer the damn question, Wade!]]

The man ignores these strange voices, inspecting the back of the truck for something. He finds it, Peter's pretty sure he has anyway, because he makes a happy little cheer. A few seconds later, the man is pulling on a suit. Peter recognizes the suit, but he can't remember-

"Deadpool!" Peter cheers, remembering. He feels rather proud of his ability to remember. "I remembered, yes!"

"That's my name," Deadpool responds, before pointing another gun at Peter.

He'd fire the weapon, Peter's sure, but there's a scream of spider sense and Peter launches back. The ground in front of him explodes in a fiery mess, and Deadpool curses, somewhat trapped in the van.

The van goes flying, and theres a smell of burning flesh that alerts Peter that Deadpool had exploded. He forgets that in loo of realizing the massive explosion has begun moving. Or, no, somewhat keeps throwing something that explodes at him alerts he moves away. Peter hums disaprovingly. Ru-ude.

Peter launches himself to the van - the white on - and uses it to launch himself upward. Mostly for dramatic effect, since he could've achieved the same altitude and force if he'd just used his spider legs to launch him. He lands on the source of the explosions, and realizes it's a robot.

The robot is saying something about something but Peter ignores it in favor of attacking. Seriously, he gets to New York finally, and this is what happens? Who even is this robot anyways? And where doe she get off trying to blow up Peter and his new sort of friend?

The robot is attacking back, he realizes vaguely. Smashing him into walls and shooting at him and tackling and flying around with him. But Peter is so engrossed in causing the damage he let's his spider-sense do all the dodging. Once, he snaps his mental Web but it causes him such pain to read something so complexly simple and cybernetic he screams out in pain, and that let's the robot get the drop on him.

He's smashed into a wall immediately. It dents behind him, and he spits out blood at the pressure from his stomach that caused him to smash into a wall with such force. He chokes, and he feels himself slipping out of his humanity a little bit. He claws at the robots shoulder, tearing the arm off. However, the arm was the only thing heloding him against the wall, so he falls.

He lands in arm crouch, legs snapping painfully under him. He ignore the pain in order to watch the robot fly away. D- Iron Man follows, saying something about Ultron. Peter finds stuff to splint his legs and uses his spider legs to carry him towards the white van. He finds Deadpool's mostly healed body, and tears out the chunks of metal in his body. It allows him to heal properly, and Peter watches in fascination as the body knit backs together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commenntttts?


	4. In Which There Is Some Vague Threatening and An Experiment Or Two and Wow Peter Has Really Bad Mood/Mental Swings Like A Bitch On Her Period But Like Twenty times Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this was hard to write and the chapter is minorly offensive and I'm really sorry if you get offended but i sweeaaaar I don't mean it badly

Peter looks around. He can't hear the Avengers yet, and from what he had observed the robot - Ultron - was someone they were chasing or fighting. He could only assume they'd be back soon. He glances down at the still regenerating man beneath him. The sounds are strange, vaguely squishing, vaguely sizzling. He really would rather not prefer leaving the man there, but there really is no way to transport the half mutilated corpse.

"Can you talk?" Peter asks, poking at the cheek of the miraculously still intact mask. "Hello? Can you?"

"The fuck do you want?" The man almost growls back. Peter frowns.

"Don't talk to me like that! I've done almost nothing wrong in this situation!" Peter retorts, throwing his hands up in a weird, semi frazzled gesture. He remains balanced on the crooked edge of the floor of the van. Although now it's stick almost vertically from the ground.

"You transported me! In an oxygen-depravation tank! Torture!" The man retorts in a high voice not unreminiscent of a petulant child.

"I was told you were an object! I didn't know you were alive!" Peter argues back. "And you never answered my question!"

"What question?"

"Can you talk?"

"Obviously!"

"Well you never know!" Peter responds, crossing his arms and glaring at him. Not that Deadpool can see the glare, but his body conveys enough. Deadpool growl-sighs.

"I can speak," he grits out. Peter blinks, body loosing it's anger and relaxing. He didn't think Deadpool would answer him. Most people just sigh in aggravation and demand he get on with whatever he was going to say. The change, the abnormalty of it makes his entire body spike with fear.

"That's not it!" Peter sort of half screams. "You answered different- that's not-" Peter makes a half aggravated, half fearful sound. He places his hands on other side of his head. In a few seconds, his reason for fear slips his mind and he perks up. "Oooooh! Can you talk?" Peter pokes the man's miraculously still masked cheek.

"What? Yeah, I can, I just t-"

"Good, good!" Peter cuts in. A few spiders crawling to his shoulders or beginning to impatiently form webs and hang off any part of his body they can. "Because _I_ have a proposition for _you_! As opposed to the original version-" Peter cuts himself off. "Anyway, I proposition that if you agree to owing me at least twenty favors, then I, in turn, will tell you all I know of the people who kidnapped you!"

"Why the fuck would I agree to that?" Deadpool asks incredulously. "That's like, totally unfair!"

Peter grins. "Weeeell, because I happen to know everything about your current predicament! And you, well, quite frankly, know nothing of it!" Peter crawls down, crouching on the semi burnt blood of the man. He flicks Deadpool's forehead, which illicites an almost animilstic growl.

"And, Deadpool," Peter continues on, humming happily. "I know how to get rid of any lead you have! Isn't that wonderful? Anywho, on another note!" Peter uses his idea and middle fingers to run around Deadpool's chest, which is only half formed. He's nothing but a head and chest at the moment. "I myself, am a pretty little scientist and you-" Peter giggles "-Are the perfect specimen! Did you know that? Absolutely perfect! And if you don't make this deal willingly-" Peter's grin does a nasty little thing and his fingers go from walking to digging the nails painfully into Wade's chest. "-Well I know exactly how to take you! So the way I see it, if you make this deal, I'll only have twenty favors- and you'll never see nor hear from me again but-" Peter's nails dig deeper. "-If you don't make the deal... You're leads all fgo cold and I steal you away and do whatever I wish for as long as I deem fit!"

Peter hops up, giggling. He insects his nails, mumbling, "I should paint these red. It'd go so nice-" Peter frowns at Deadpool, who is oozing that smell of fear. "Why are you afraid? Did I do skemthing? Oh- I gave you a deal! A proposition! That's a fun word, isn't it? Prop-oh-zish-un!"

Deadpool stays silent, Peter fidgets, looking around wildly. He chitters distracted to his spiders. They keep him constantly informed so he doesnt forget, and it becomes ingrained in his memory. Peter realizes Deadpool's shoulders are forming.

"So? Whats your answer?" Peter questions, leaning down. He taps the nose on the mask before lightly tapping his knuckles to his forehead, as if to dislodge something misplaced in his brain.

"I accept," Deadpool says somewhat weekly. Strange. Then again, Deadpool probably isn't in the right frame of mind to be making such decisions, what with the constant pain of healing and all. Peter's vaguely sure he's going against his own very vague set of morals and is thoroughly manipulating the older and bigger man by forcing him to make setup decisions in this frame of mind but-

"This is going to be fun!" Peter shouts happily, clapping his hands before he looks around. "Now, how will I get you home?"

~

Peter looks at the man following him. He'd given him his cloak to cover up, and it was currently wrapped around his body in an awkward toga. Peter liked the black fabric, darker then venom with bright white spider Web designs and one huge spider on the back of the hood. It was a thin fit, even for him, and how it managed to cover any part of the merc's body was beyond him.

Peter frowns. Where was he again?

"Where am I?" He echoes quietly, looking around. His mind races to make him forget and he rocks back on his heels around the erase and recover memories faster than he can make out. He groans, clutching his head.

"To much, to much," he whispers, shaking his head. "Remember. Remember. Do not forget, do not forget." Peter turns to the oddly silent Deadpool. He's not entirely silent, he keeps mumbling to himself. It's grating, not being able to properly discern what he's saying. Peter can't stretch his senses at the moment. Far to busy trying desperately to grapple with his mind and memory, which is begining to rebel against him.

"Stop!" He finally screams, much to his and Deadpool's surprise. "Stop it, stop it, stop it! I need to remember! Stop fucking with me!" Peter snaps his fingers, and hisses. Spiders crawling on his shoulders and chest and head to hiss as close to his ear as possibly. He snaps his head to Deadpool, who jumps. He's not all there yet. His brain is still comnecting.

"I'm sorry," he says abruptly. "I mean, I'm not entirely sorry. I guess I'm sorry that I'm not sorry because I want to be sorry but I also feel like it's rude not to apolgize?" Peter cocks his head curiously to the side, words ending in a questioning lilt towards the end. "Anyway, my safe house is here." Peter gestures to the building beside them. He turns, opening the door and walking in. He flicks on the light, which is purposefully dim.

Deaspool trails behind him, and apparently decides it's okay to talk at a normal volume. He starts rambling. He doesn't stop talking, and Peter doesn't mind. Peter goes about shooing the spiders off him and finding some food. This home has large cicadas, perfectly preserved in glittering jars. There's other insects as well, but Peter takes the cicadas and eats, glancing up at the second story. It's still there. Peter had only been in this house for a few minutes before he left. He hadn't needed to break it down.

Peter hesitates to stretch his mental web, remembering the flash of other voices before the explosion. He'd need to test on that. For now, however, he and his forced companion require sleep. Sustanance as well.

"Deadpool?" He calls questioningly, tapping his fingers on the counter in a rythm he doesn't know. "I think I have cereal here, if you're hungry? It's probably stale, though. We can buy some more tommorrow, if you like?"

Peter bites his lip. He doesn't actually know how to act, now. The proposition, born of mania is an uncertainty in his mind. He knows soon, his temperary bout of mostly sane will leave, and it makes him uncomfortable to have brought in a guest like that. He swallows, chewing a little more. This was a mistake.

"I'll take it!" Comes a cheery voice. To cheery, it's forced. Peter stiffens. Who was that? Peter whips around to face the source of the voice. Deadpool. Oh! Deadpool!

"Deadpool!" Peter cheers, "So nice of you to come! I assume I said something to get you to come? Please remind me!"

"Um," Deadpool responds, apparently confused. "You sia dyou had stale cereal?"

"Oh! Right!" Peter nods, clapping his hands and turning to a cupboard. He pulls out a bunch of boxes. "Here! I don't have much else I'm afraid! I'll make sure to make a normal food run tomorrow! Oooh I could get some crickets and fried grasshoppers while I'm at it! You could come to, if you like! It could be a date!" Peter rocks on his feet, giggling. "A date? I havent been on one do those since-"

Peter's body goes rigid. His mind flashing out names. Names, names.

_Blood, blood, there's so much blood! What does he do? What does he do? He needs to stop the bleeding! No, no, don't let him die! Please, please, he's all he has!_

_The necks not right. Wake up, wake up! Breathe, breathe! Please, please! He knows he ended it wrong but please! Please!_

_Cruel smile, playing like Christmas lights. "Oh Peter, you loved her, didn't you?"_

_"Peter! Peter, please! Please! I came here to save you!" Gargling, no. No, no, please! Not her to, not her-_

_"C'mon Spider-Man, let's go show this city what we're made of," a pur, like a cat. Peter smiles. It's love, right?_

Peter shakes, gnawing at his lip and snapping his fingers over and over again. Snap, snap, snap, snap. His eyes blur for and second.

The shaking stops. What was he doing again?

"I'm sorry," Peter giggles out, "What was I saying again?"

"You said you were going to go out and get food?" Deadpool questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, right, you can come with!" Peter says cheerily, before pulling a cicada out and popping it in his mouth. He sits on the counter, swinging his legs happily.

After a few minutes, Deadpool finishes his cereal. He doesn't seem to know what to do with the bowl, so Peter webs it to him and puts it in the sink, screwing the lid of jar of cicadas back on and skipping around the island to pull Deadpool towards his lab.

"C'mon, c'mon, we gotta talk about the whole job and proposition thing!" Peter giggles, and Deadpool makes a choked sound, and the suddenly thick smell of fear makes Peter force back a gag. "Oh don't worry," Peter giggles, "No experiments yet! I have thirty favors and I am going to make them count!"

"Thirty?" Deadpool squeaks, "You said twenty!"

"I said at least twenty! The actual number isn't set yet! I was thinking thirty, but thirty-six sounds better on the toungue!" Peter responds. Peter notes immediately that Deadpool tenses. His mind seems to be catching up, then. That's good. He was looking forward to meeting the mercenary when he was in a normal frame of mind, and not this somewhat fearful one. There's a low hum at the base of his skull, informing him that at danger may be possible.

Peter shoves Deadpool into a chair, which has straps on the arms and legs. Deadpool tenses immediately, but Peter makes no move to strap them. Instead focusing on clearing out the old vials and mess from years ago. He'd only been here once before, in this safe house, for about thirty minutes. Peter pulls himself up to his spider legs.

"Now, the client who hired me was running frm Weapon X," Peter states, "No doubt they found out he managed to grab you and wanted you for their own greedy little selves. To bad though, you get to be mine for the next forty-eight favors!"

Deadpool makes to voice his disagreement about the number, but Peter continues on. "Now, as far as I know, the client is boring and he's waiting at his own safe house for me to miraculously deliver you. As it stands, he has no reason to believe I'm not still doing the job, despite the weird robotic set back with Ultron." Peter's mania leaves just a little bit as he watches Deadpool really become Deadpool. 

"However," Peter continues, "The problem would be getting you to the safe house since I'm pretty sure we don't know what they used to capture you. Plus, I plan on using at least one or two of my thirty-three favors before we start. Ofcourse, Im pretty sure if I pretend to deliver you, you could probably wait and then carry out the rest but, the client dared to trick me so I'm afraid I must accompany you so as to send a message to any others who might feel inclined to try such a thing. I'm sure you understand. Youre perfectly free to kill him if you'd like, of course. I'd just like to do some things to the corpse. Perhaps join in on any torture you might decide to use."

Peter inspects his nails. He really should paint them red. Focus! "Of course, that plan is faulty because- oooh, You know I could paint the purple- Sorry, what were we talking about again?"

Deadpool seems almost patient, but he's tense and coiled. "Plan was shit. Need another one. I'm thinking we do some breaking in and espionage. All spies and shit 'cause I am fucking ninja-"

"Sounds good!" Peter says distractedly. "I think I know what my first of the sixty-nine-" Peter and Deadpool both giggle. "Okay, fine, thirty-six favors is!"

Deadpool visibly tenses. "Twenty."

"Deadpool, dearest, you still have no idea who the client is and I am still perfectly capable of incapacitating you. My number is Thirty-Six." Peter states, mental fix shifting from semi-sane, mercenary mode to mad-scientist. "Because of that, I'm changing the first favor!" He claps his hands, manic glee filling him. "Oooh, but for now, I'm going to run some tests on you!"

"That's the first favor?" Deadpool asks wearily.

"No, silly, that's just something you're going to comply to! I'm not wasting my favor on that! That's for something else. No, my tests will be mostly of your own free will. Of course, that being said, I'll gladly do it without your consent as well!" Peter giggles, crawling over to a cabinet. "But with your consent, you'll be able to tell me what makes you uncomfortable! And I'll be able be to not do those things because, contrary to popular belief, I can be a somewhat decent person!"

Peter pulls out various substances, scattering them on a desk and pulling various machinery out. He pulls out a needle, inspecting it cuiously.

"I'll have to sterilize this," Peter states, and he goes to do so. "Tell me about yourself!"

"What the fuck do you think this is?" Deadpool asks, and Peter turns. Deadpool looks ready to bolt.

"A science experiment!" Peter responds, childish glee making him smile and clap his hands. "Which you consent to. I mean, I guess of you don't that's fine to! The straps are there for a reason!" Peter waves at him dismissively. Deadpool seems to yell at something Peter can't hear, and Peter realizes that he probably doesn't need needles yet and is unnecessarily freaking Deadpool out. He panics.

"I'm not-" Peter shouts, panic in his voice. "I'm not going to use needles! I I wouldnt! Not yet- I just-" his voice breaks. "I won't do things that make you uncomfortable as long as you tell me what does. At least, not right now. I can't promise anything when I'm.. less here but I really won't-"

Peter bites his lip, before his eyes light up, panic forgotten aso he sets a chair across from Deadpool's. Then he pushes some desks on either side of the chairs and various pieces of machinery. He stops when he smells Deadpool's panic, and hears the usual ramble that never leaves his lips quicken with worry.

"None of this will hurt you," he assures, "I mean, unless you really hate buzzing noises. I do, but there's nothing I can do about it! This is just meant to pick up things!" Peter takes his seat in front of Deadpool. He looks at his nails, but looks away before they can distract him.

"Alrighty!" Peter states, crossing his legs and clapping his hands. "Let's begin!"

Deadpool tenses, and Peter snaps his mental Web out. Immediately, it snaps back at him, and the force of it makes him going flying backwards a few inches. His hands grabbing the first thing at his side - the edge of a desk - and fighting to stay upright. Enter world spinning and he clamps down on his lip, blood and venom going from their usual dribble to huge splirts. He coughs.

[[What the hell was that?]]

[I thought we were going to get hurt!]

[[He's glaring at us.]]

[Here comes the pain.]

[[We should run. Kill him and run.]]

[But what if we can't and he decides not to play nice?]

"Who are you?" Peter asks curiously, looking around the air. "This happened last time! And you really won't be able to escape. You truly shouldn't bother, it's all very much easier if you just cooperate."

There's a silence. Deadpool even shuts his mouth for its usual unending ramble as he processes Peter's words. Because it sounded like Peter could hear the boxes and that shouldn't be possible. At all.

[What the fuck?]

[[Holy shit]]

"What the fucking holy shit?"

"Oooh nice combo," Peter comments dryly, going to check the machines. He frowns. "Hm, they didn't catch anything. Weird. Guess I'll just wait for the next time you die to try this again." Peter pushes the desks with the machines away.

"Let me show you to your room!" Peter shoes cheerily, pulling Wade away before he can process. He's tops half way from pulling him up the stairs.

"Listen, Deadpool," Peter states, "I dont have a lot of time before I slip so I'm going to be very honest with you, okay?"

"Sure, Spindley, what's up?" Deadpool asks, even though the strange seriousness Peter is emenating is making him want to run. Peter' entire demeanor seems to have shifted.

"I am not always this nice," he says, and he looks at Deadpool, but seems to see through him. "One day, I'll snap and you won't get the courtesy of being ssked whether something makes you uncomfortable and I promise you, Deadpool, that on those days it will hurt. And I promise, that if you leave before my favors are up, there will be hell and I promise you, I sincerely promise, that there is nothing that will hide you."

Peter smiles, but it's icy. "I'm nice because I don't want to lose my mind any more than it is but if you're still here when a day comes and I wake and it's gone, you better hope it comes back quick."

Peter opens and door, and forgets entirely what he's said. "Anyways, here's your room!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some relevant info dumping:
> 
> Peter's mood swings/sanity swings are ducking insane and somewhat noticable, and I promise this relationship won't be toxic. (I Mean it, I'm not for that shit, Peter does get better enough.)
> 
> What Peter means when he says "Deadpool becoming truly Deadpool," or that he's not "in the right frame of mind," or whatever is that Deadpool is sort of out of it? Like the oxygen deprivation tanks and the exploding jars his mind and makes his brain fuck up its already gucked upself so Deadpool's sorta in his own version of "shock" for a little bit?
> 
> Feel free to ask me any questions pertaining to anything about Peter or Deadpool you might be confused about! I know it's confusing and I can't explain it in the fic so if you need some info or something just ask!
> 
> Comment, please!


	5. In Which Deadpool Tenses and Boundaries Are Half Set and Peter Eats Crickets and Grasshoppers. (He Vomited In The Morning Though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this shit is fucking hard. No, I'm serious. It has to be in-character Peter but I also have to fundamentally fuck up and amplify all his emotions and he has to forget everything in .59373974 seconds and grrrr.
> 
> And then in-character Deadpool is hard in this because how tf does he react in this situation, ya know? He can't be like, scared 100% of the time because he's insane and has maybe 3 self preservatory bones in his body and he also has White and Yellow and auuuuugghhh. And like, how does he react to Spindler, who totally took advantage of his mental state and semi-manipulated him into making a deal he never would have agreed to normally?
> 
> AND THEN I HAVE TO PLAN ALL THIS PLOT OUT.
> 
> AND THEN I HAVE TO PLOT OUT ALL OF PETER'S AND WADE'S VARIOUS JOURNEY THROUGH SLOWLY GETTING BETTER SO THIS ISN'T A TOXIC FUCKING RELATIONSHIP.
> 
> What did I get myself into?
> 
> And Peter's borderline d.i.d. which is litteraly his brain making him forget random shit while he has mood swings and mental shifts.
> 
> The ptsd is insane for both of them.
> 
> SERIOUSLY ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT THEM I'M SO FAR INTO THIS AU I CAN'T SEE A WAY OUT.

Peter wakes up the next day and automatically knows something is off. His stomach rolls uncomfortably and the base of his skull buzzes with something like a vague warning. His mouth is dry and his bones ache just vaguely enough for him to remember how much beds hurt to sleep in due to the newer enhancements and additions to his body.

He sits up, feeling his face and realizing he still has his mask - and suit - on. He sits for a second, trying to remember why he fell asleep fully clothed and in a bed. His memories come back almost reluctantly, and he squeezes his eyes shut, resting his head on the wall behind him. His stomach twists some more, and he feels sick and naseaus. This was going to be an awful day. He clenches his fist. This apparently is an awful idea, because immediately he rolls over and gags.

He stands up, stumbling to his door and shoving it open. He groans again, searching for the bathroom. He was going to vomit, and he was sick, and this was awful, and what had caused it? He opens a door. Deadpool's lounging on the bed. He covers his mouth, sick intensifying. A small whimper as he turns to find a bathroom.

The next door he opens is thankfully one to a bathroom, and he all but collapses onto his knees by the toilet. Bile leaving his mouth. He vomits until he dry heaves, and then he flushes the toilet and just sits there for a moment. He sighs. Kind of what he gets for sleeping in clothes, and on a bed. Stressing a body out as its sleeping is definitely a no-go. Especially one with a very particular, very weak, and very sensitive stomach.

No, seriously. If he sleeps wrong, he throws up. If he eats even a little bit of something be cant, he throws up. If he does anything more than he can or should, he throws up. Peter curls up a little bit, waiting out the last of the sickness.

"You okay there, Spindley?" Deadpool asks. Peter flips him off, because that seems like an appropriate response. "When and where, Webbie Debbie?"

"Shut up," Peter grumbles, wiping his mouth and standing up. "This is totally your fault."

"My fault?" Deadpool yells, scandalized, "How is this my fault?"

"I had to sleep with my clothes on. And my mask. And I had to sleep on a bed. Stressed my body out!" Peter responds, before his stomach grumbles at him. "Shut up," he hisses to it, "You are not getting fed until youre as stable as I was before everything hit the fan."

Deadpool's still talking - he never stops - and Peter doesn't listen in. Instead choosing to sigh and walk over to the doorway, intent on getting out.

Deadpool's body language shifts immediately once Peter gets about three feet away from him, and Peter holds his hands up. It doesn't do much to hinder him. If he'd had wanted to hurt Deadpool, he could do so with his hands tied behind his back and he had no doubt Deadpool possessed the same level of skill. But the gesture was meant to comfort the merc, and nothing more.

Deadpool relaxes ever so slightly. Peter sighs, and he steps back until Deadpool relaxes more. "You can walk away first."

"What do you mean, Spindle Pindle?" Deadpool questions, cocking his head to the side. Peter sighs, letting his hands fall to his side.

"You get tense whenever I walk anywhere closer than three feet from you. You're uncomfortable with my pressence, and that's understandable." Peter shrugs at that, "So, you walk away first. Go downstairs, I'll wait."

Deadpool stays silent, which is a rare occurrence for him, before walking away. Peter watches, and blinks a few times. He snaps his fingers, listening as Deadpool's footsteps and heart beat make their way downstairs. Peter giggles. Why was Deadpool downstairs? How did he get in the bathroom?

Peter follows after the merc, and once he reaches the kitchen, he stretches. Arching his back and pulling his arm up, one stretching up and the other reaching behind his head to grab the other's shoulder. His spider legs stretch out into near straight lines, and he goes on his tippy toes. Peter hums happily.

"That feels absolutely wonderful," Peter almost purs, turning to Deadpool. Deadpool's a little tense. Strange. Why was he tense? Was it Peter's fault? He's also watching Peter, and Peter can actually feel Deadpool's eyes trace his body. Peter giggles. Spider sense was immensely amusing.

"I have my first favor, by the way," Peter confides, "But I won't tell you it now - it'll upset you. I don't particularly wanna upset you, yet. Now, there was something I said I'd do today..." Peter tries to remember, frowning. He can't remember. Frustration claws at him.

"Well, Spin Bin, I know yesterday you said you were gonna go out and buy some food," Deadpool chimes in. He's still tense, as though Peter's presence is what is causing his unease. Peter blinks.

"Am I causing you unease by being this close?" Peter asks curiously, head cocked curiously to the side. Deadpool tenses rather unintenntionally. Peter smiles. "I am! Oh, that's wonderful! I mean, it's not, I'd love for you to trust me but I know why you don't and oh its so wonderful to know things!"

Peter hums, crawling ontop of the counter separating them, noting with a scientific interest that Deadpool tenses noticeably, though his heart rate stays just as calm. Although, if he listens really closely, it does pick up just a beat or two. Peter hums again, placing his hands on the edge of the counter and gripping, pulling his legs out from behind him until he's sitting on the counter. Legs hanging over the edge inches from where Deadpool stands.

"I make you uncomfortable," Peter notes, "The closer I am, the more you tense. Is it because you're afraid of what I'll do with those favors? Or is it because you think I might harm you? Perhaps it's a distrust?"

Deadpool is silent. Peter sighs, leaning his head back and grumbling incoherent gibberish. Stupid him, fucking all this up. Stupid proposition. Although, his regret doesn't go to far. Deadpool is very interesting. In every aspect. 

"Deadpool, tell me something," Peter demands, voice just a bit warmer than ice, "Do you think I can harm you?"

There's a small pause, "Depends on the definition of harm," Deadpool says cheerily.

"At all," Peter states a little dryly, leveling his mask back to stare at Deadpool's mask's own set of eyes. He wonders, vaguely, what color Deadpool's eyes are.

"Probably," Deadpool replies. Peter nods.

"This deal we have - will you honor it?" Peter questions curiously, bringing his hands up to Deadpool's shoulders. They tense even more, muscles coiled up and ready to spirng. Peter brings his hands away, watches them relax. He brings them back, the muscles tense. He gets caught up in the sensation of it, tense, untense, tense, untense, tense, untense-

"Yeah," Deadpool responds, "'Course I will, Spin-Fin. I'm a man of my word."

"Mm," Peter hums thoughtfully, and brings his hands down again. The muscles tense, and Deadpool makes to step away. In a moment of brief panic, Peter clutches onto the shoulders tightly, to keep him in place. There's a small sound of pain and Peter's hands fly off immediately, and he gets up on the counter, stepping away until his head hit the hanging pots behind him. They clatter and he makes a pained sound, stepping forward.

Deadpool tenses and Peter hurries to step back again, but he hits the pots when he hurries to do so his spider sense zings his spine and he curls up to avoid repeating the cycle. "I didn't mean to," he mumbles, "I really didn't."

"Oh-Kay, Web-Pleb," Deadpool responds, and Peter bites his lip, blood and venom dripping down his chin.

"We should go get food," Peter says suddenly, perking up as he plops down from the counter, and he's so close to Deadpool for a brief second he can feel his breath through the mask, before he slips to the side and walks over to his door, grabbing the cloak.

"Right," Deadpool responds agreeingly, and his voice dissolves to background noise as he begins his usual ramble.

~

Peter is sitting in the shopping cart, curled up and giggling like an actual seven year old as Deadpool throws a few things into it. He keeps glancing at Peter uncertainly, and Peter meets every glance with his own, a smirk, and a giggle. He even sing songs nursery rhymes and gets excited when they pass the snacks and candy isle.

"Oh my god," Peter gasps, "Deadpool, Deadpool, we have to get Oreos!" He points at the Oreos for emphasis.

"Baby Boy," Deadpool begins, "I can't believe I'm saying this but I don't think we have space for Oreos."

"What?" Peter shrieks in horror, and he moves some things around. He points to the space he's made, which is just barley big enough to fit a box of Oreos in it. He points to it. "We have space!"

Deadpool sighs and passes the Oreos along, although he and Peter do stare at in longing as they pass. Peter complains and Deadpool rambles and when they finally get to the cashier, she looks like she can't decide whether or not to be horrifed, weirded out, or amused by the two well-known mercenaries.

Peter giggles when the plastic bags get loaded back on the cart and he leaps out of it, grabbing the five plastic bags without a second thought. Landing on one foot and watching Deadpool put the cart away. He giggles. Deadpool is fucking hot.

"You're hot," Peter states in a conspiratorial whisper, before giggling again and making his way over to a nearby PetCo. He buys three hundred crickets and giggles as they hop around in the bags. Deadpool had somehow gotten hold of the plastic grocery bags between Point A and Point B, but Peter doesn't care.

Deadpool's rambling and Peter's constant giggling fill the silence as they walk. Peter makes a sharp turn, however, and Deadpool stumbles to follow him as Peter nears a food truck. He's curious and tense, unsure of how Peter's mood will swing if he says or does anything, remembering keenly the warning from the night before. Peter is openly excited, ordering something in a happy voice, and the driver of the truck is terrified and nodding along hurriedly.

Deadpool makes his way over and watches as Peter stuffs the cricket bags in his belt and is handed twenty sticks of fried _grasshoppers_. He hums happily, throwing the driver an obscene amount of cash before skipping over to Deadpool.

"Hey, Deadpool," He giggles, and he's struck with how _the Spindler_ is literally a seven year old, mentally, at the moment. He wonders if this is what it's like to hang out with him. Except he's more obscene, and inappropriate, and talkative, and-

Peter skips away and holy shit, he's got the ass of a _god_. Peter giggles, apparently Deadpool had said that out loud. Peter doesn't seem to mind and he even  _arches his back a little more._ In order to illicite a reaction from the merc. Who just whistles appreciatively as they had back to Peter's safe house.

Peter seems to be uncomfortable the moment he renters it, fidgeting and biting his lip almost unnoticeabley more, snapping his fingers. His giggling stops, and although his smile remains it's clearly more forced. He makes no move to harm or attack, though, so Deadpool risks walking past him to stock up Peter's kitchen.

He's still rambling, and Peter doesn't seem like he's going to tell him to stop so Deadpool doesn't. Peter crunches on what must be the fifth fried grasshopper, pulling himself up to sit - and then lay - on the island counter with fifteen sticks of fried grasshoppers and five empty ones.

Peter's kitchen is nice. It's small, but nice and has the latest models of almost everything. It's modern, but it fits perfectly into the color scheme of the rooms around him and doesn't do much to strain or over stimulate his eyes. It's got a row of counters, on one end a fridge. There's a stove about two counters down, followed by a sink, and on the other end of the row there's a dish washer. About two or three feet away there's an island counter/breakfast bar, above it holds hanging pots and pans. It's an open flook plan, so the island is the only thing that separates lichen from everywhere else. And the tile floor.

Peter hums, bending his knees up as he bites a chunk off the next grasshopper and spreads his arms out wide next to him.

"Deadpool?" He calls, and he can hear the muscles tense. The sound is frankly more pleasurable to hear then he'd like, but he forgets the fact in mere moments.

"Yeah, Bab Boy?" Deadpool asks curiosuly, but there's a level of caution that has never managed to leave in his voice.

"I've decided on twenty favors." Peter rolls on to his stomach, letting his legs hang off the edge of the counter. 

"Oh," Deadpool responds, and his grip on the handle of the fridge tightens. Peter frowns.

"Is that not good?" Peter asks, a small level of panic in his voice. "I'm trying to make it better-"

"It's good, baby boy," Deadpool responds. Peter relaxes.

"Oh, okay!" He responds with childish pride and happiness as he bites off another grasshopper chunk. He throws the empty sticks into the trashcan. "Hey Deadpool, wanna try one of these?"

"Sure, baby boy," Deadpool responds, and holds out his hand. He's a little hesitant, Peter can tell. But clearly curious. Peter hands him the grasshopper stick.

Deadpool raises up the bottom half of his mask rather hesitantly, and Peter can literally feel the discreet glances Deadpool makes his way as he pulls it up. Spider sense was great. Deadpool apparently doesn't get what he's waiting for - which is apparently a good thing - and seems to relax in slight relief before he bites a chunk of the grasshopper off.

His mask seems to emote as he gets serious and contemplating and Peter finds that he sort of wants the man's approval. Deadpool smacks his lips a few times, and Peter stares.

"This is almost as good as your ass," Deadpool comments. "Gimme another."

~

They ended up going back out to get some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and questions make me insanely happy


	6. In Which There's More Vomiting and Wade And Peter and Science and Labs and Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short - I apologize!
> 
> Some notes;
> 
> Peter is admittedly more stable in a science environment, and when things intrude on him it causes the stability to fold in on itself.
> 
> Wade hates everything. Most of all emotions. He's confused. He liked Spindler, but he's also terrified of him.
> 
> Whoop.

Peter yawns, stretching as he rolls the office chair back a little bit. He looks up at the cieling, which is perfectly white and spotless. A true testament to how rarely used this safe house is. He had gone to the lab after he and Deadpool had went to go and buy some more fried grasshoppers.

Deadpool had completely tensed the moment Peter had opened the lab door, as if just seeing the room had brought him physical harm. Peter hadn't minded, knowing and understanding the reaction. But he'd said goodbye and had went to go see if he could maybe figure out a way to make his venom something like a gas.

Which had lead to a lot of painful needles in his mouth as he extracted the venom, and even more painful as he'd poked at his fingers with the same needle. Not necessarily for any scientific purpose, truth be told, he'd just gotten frustrated and had used the small pinpricks of pain to ground him. The little dots of pain had quickly enough, as his healing factor had only increased with the new additions and enhancements he'd gotten.

Much to his surprise, however, one of the places he'd poked had not healed. It was in fact, full of venom. A small gland of venom that never fully formed. He grins, watching as it finally closes up. Inspecting his hands, he wonders if he can make something that'll make the venom gland fully form, or at least pump out venom fully. Preferably, however, he'd like it to form under his finger nails. The venom gland was on the middle segments of his fingers, and he figured he could probably make something to slip under his nails and pierce the venom gland.

Peter enjoyed science. He enjoyed it because it was a constant, but it also challenged him. It kept his mind focussed. He rarely forgot what he was doing, and his mind seemed to change less and swing less between one emotion or mental state to another. He inspects his hands some more. The object would have to be incredibly thin, and the process would probably be immensely painful. Peter grinned.

Pain was okay.

~

Peter screamed. This hurt far worse then he thought he did, and he forced himself to keep his hand perfectly still despite his spider sense shrieking at him and the pain ripping through him like a tidal wave. The tissue underneath his skin was hard, and it took a very slow and very painful process to get such a thin piece of metal thrthrough it. Not only that, but it had to go under his nail.

Peter let out another gutteral and somewhat blood curdling scream as the machine his hand was in very, very, infuriatingly slowly put the thin piece of metal under his nail and into his finger. His eyes tearing up as he forced himself to keep his hand there. The pain was grounding, and he found himself laughing in between screams.

The door opened somewhat slowly, as though the person opening it was cautious but also trying to get in quickly. It's small squeak stopping abruptly as the person opening the door took in the sight before him. Peter, leaning over a desk with one hand splayed on it, and the other forcing the wrist to stay down as a strange contraption pushed a piece of metal thinder then a needle I under his nail and into his skin.

He screamed again, and felt bones bruise as he clutched onto his wrist tightly. His eyes snap over to the door, and he's very, very aware of his unmasked face. Which is twisting into a deadly expression as he catches sight of his guest, who radiates the smell of horror.

"Get out," he growls, and tears force themselves out of his eyes at the worst moment and he chokes on another scream, which only uses to emphasize his next set of words. "Get out!"

Deadpool dosen't move, somewhat frozen. Peter growls again, but it's washed away as amother flood of pain hits him. He screams, and he's so distracted by the intrusion that he doesn't control himself, and he crushes his wrist. Burning hot, searing pain rips through him. Mixing with the already awful pain of having thin metal inserted into his finger, he let's out a choked scream which turns into a pained gargle and sob, and he rips his mangled wrist and hand away as the metal finally hits his mark, clutching turns he broken bone gingerly as he turns and throws up everything he's eaten the past day.

Chunks of rancid greyish and chunky vomit spew out of his mouth and he can identify half digested chunks of grasshoppers and crickets. His stomach tries to force air and acid out somewhat briefly. He takes a shuddering breath, inspecting his wrist. Wiping his mouth, he realizes he hadn't splint it in time and stumbles to a nearby cabinet, grabbing one of the many splints in it and resnapping his wrist. Teeth digging sharply into his lip to swallow down the small cry he otherwise would have made. The splint comes on and he sighs, staring at the pile of vomit on his once clean floors. Though, in other safe houses vomit stains weren't an uncommon sight, as his stomach is extraordinarily weak, and most experiments cause stress or pain one way or another.

"Well," Peter says cheerfully, "At least there won't be anything to vomit next time!" He inspects his fingers. Only one has the device in it, a hollow thing of metal. It aches and he knows it'll never stop aching, but venom flows in small dribbles out from under his fingernails. He looks up at Deadpool, smile taking on a quality that makes the fear he can smell thicken to almost choking qualities.

"Now," He mumbles, "What do I do with you?"

Deadpool's heart rate picks up noticeably. His body tenses, his fingers twitch. He's ready for a fight. Peter lazily hums, tapping at the nail of the finger, sending a dull shock of bruise-like pain everytime.  _Tap tap tap tap tap...._ His pupils dilating over and over again. Buzzing fills his ears. The black spider second pair of eyes above his original ones moving around in frantic directions.

He becomes obsessed with the body language he's reading as he focuses on breathing. Rational fighting with spider. Deadpool'so fingers twitch and his arms are ready to grab any weapon closest to those twitching fingers. One foot moves slightly to postiotion itself. There's slight movement under the eyes of the mask that show he's looking for something. Escape, probably. His body is all tense and heavily coiled muscle. Ready to spring with deadly force and intent.

The eyes rest on Peter, and his spider sense alerts him of which specific part Deadpool is looking at. The low buzz wonders from different points of his body - attack openings. Peter leaves himself open, because he knows that he doesn't need to be defensive yet. He keeps tapping his fingers, the pain providing a steady raft to float on as his thoughts quickly fall into a disorganized tidal wave of mania and panic.

"Get out," Peter half growls, taking steps forward. His legs taking him a few steps before the spider ones pick him up and take him the rest of the way forward as he leans in close to Deadpool's face. Deadpool grabs his weapons instinctually.

It's almost instinct. Peter snaps his mental web, for a reason he doesn't quite know. But it snaps back at him with such force he's blinded for a half a second, and his body flies back. He stumbles three feet, four feet, five feet as he lands on the floor a foot away from the vomit he'd just expelled.

Peter let's out a hiss of pain as his hand slams down to the ground, sending a jolt up his still aching wrist and finger. He squeezes his eyes shut against the rush of dizziness, and literally sees stars.

[Woah!]

[[What in the fuck?]]

"I can hear you two again!" Peter snaps, and he stands up, inspecting himself. "Shut up or that pretty little contraption in the corner is going to come uncomfortably close."

There's a silence as Deadpool looks at the corner of the lap. The contraption isnt easy to identify as one specific thing, but it looks like heavy pain is induced to cause it's purpose. The boxes, for once, remain silent.

Peter places himself on a desk, letting his legs swing over the edge. "I have a deal for you," he half-purs. "You forget this face and I, in turn, forget you came in here. You walk out, I throw a small tantrum, Yada yada. All in all, I don't snap and take out all of my lovely science experiments and play with you in some sickening, but frankly rather fun, half twisted version of the game Operation." Peter inspects his nails. He really should paint his nails red.

"Or," he begins cheerily, "You can come in here, and we can see if I'm willing to forgive and forget. If you do risk this, I'll get rid of five favors." Peter smiles happily. He liked this. The propositions would be out of the way, meaning Deadpool might like him more and he got to play with the merc. "Once you come in, however, you can't leave until I say so! Feel free to consult your boxes."

[Um, get out! Now! Now!]

[[Yeah, abort! Abort! Never feel concerned for the screams again! Leave! Leave!]]

[WHAT DO YOU MEAN, STAY?]

[[He has a point?]]

[Sure, but five favors is not a big enough price for that! The risk is huge!]

[[Wade's right, it's not like we can't heal from what he does!]]

[What he does doesn't matter! We still don't want him to do it!]

[[Yeah, but five favors! Gone!]]

[But trama!]

[[I'm sure a little more won't kill us more than it has.]]

Deadpool closes the door behind him, shaking ever so slightly.

[We are fucked.]

"Interesting," Peter murmers, "You chose to stay." He doesn't speak after that for close to five minutes and Deadpool nervously chatters. It's frankly wonderful to be able to hear the other side of the conversations the merc never seems to stop having.

Peter sighs, wandering over to the cabinet to put the splint back and find something to clean the vomit. His mood gone, he's not sure he particularly wants to play with the never silent merc. Perhaps taunt. Maybe smell the fear, but playing with the merc is an option that's kind of left him for now. The mood gone, he really just wants to clean the mess up and start on another finger.

He begins cleaning, tuning the boxes and Wade out. Wade. That was his name. Peter wrinkles his nose at the smell of vomit, forcing himself and a gag back as he cleans it up. He grumbles incoherently to himself, and it isn't until he's done cleaning that he realizes he's been talking to Wade and the boxes. Though they can't hear him.

Peter inspects his nails again. "Should I paint them red?" He calls curiously, showing his hands out to Wade.

"Mmm, yeah Spin-Doll, sounds great," Wade says all to agreeingly. Fear is a factor and Peter sighs.

"Tell me the truth. Lies are agravating."

"I think you should paint them white." Wade almost says it to quickly. Peter looks at his hands.

"Oh my gods," He whispers, awed. "You're totally right."

~

They've painted his nails from black to white. Peter's pretty happy with this, and Wade is a little less fearful now that the initial horror has worn off. He's still cautious and hesitant, but Peter seemed happy and not like he was ready to conduct evil scientific research on mercy like himself with healing factors so good very few can outshine it.

Unfortunately, Wade learns about five minutes after they complete the painting of nails, a happy Peter, is not always a safe one.

Peter's smile takes on a cold and dangerous edge, and he looks up from his nails to peer at Wade through his masks eyes. Wade shivers, and the boxes seem to realize something distantly important.

[Did you feel that?]

[[He can't hear us anymore.]]

[[Shit, that means we don't make another appearance after this except in refference!]]

Peter has gotten closer. His unmasked face inches away from Wade's masked one, and his pretty hands reach up to touch the edges of the mask.

"What colour..." Peter drawls, eyes taking on a cruelly curious look. "Are your eyes?"

Deadpool's hands fly up to grip Peter's wrists. Shaky fear replaced by steel. No one sees under his mask.

"Not a color youre going to see."

The response is wrong, he soon realizes as he watched Peter's face twist into an unpleasant scowl. He's so close to the other merc's eyes. And face. But the eyes are captivating. One pair is black, but looks like there's black film covering a ball in a socket and the other pair - more human - is introverted. Irises so black they'll swallow you whole and pupils a pretty yet intense shad of chocolate brown he feels like he's suffocating. The spider eyes, the black ones, are iridescent, he notes.

"But I want to," Peter responds petulantly, but he doesn't sound like a childish adult anymore. He sounds like what he us - a mercenary. A dangerous, and rather mentally unstable one. "And you owe me fifteen favors."

It's a threat. Wade can almost hear between the lines.  _If you make me waste a favor on this, you'll regret it._ But he's adamant on the mask rule. No one sees under the mask.

"Then use one," He responds coolly. His own voice sounding exactly the same. A dangerous, and rather mentally unstable mercenary. There's a brief silence.

"Choose." Peter growls, eyes challenging. "Mask off, or I get to have fun."

The way he sounds fun make sit sound like Wade is decidedly not going to be having much of it. He's almost tempted to reply with the latter anyway, but he'd rather tramatize a - jesus, how old was Spindler? He looked like a teenager. "How old are you?"

"Twenty, why-" Peter's eyes lose the edge, curiosity following before snapping back. "Now choose."

"First one," Ware grumbles. Peter's eyes light up, and he tugs insistently on the masks edge. The mask comes off.

"Pretty eyes," Peter coos, and he giggles. Wade waits for a comment on his, well, to be frank, complete ugliness. Peter doesn't even seem to register the scars. "We're they always so pretty?"

"They were more Blue before," Wade finds himself answering, "Now they have that sickly green complexion."

"I don't think eyes can have complexions," Peter confesses, frowning in such an adorable way Wade forgets to be scared. Peter hums, and then begins to push Wade back into that chair from before. The fear comes rushing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! I have no idea what I'm doing. Gimme comments and questions please.


	7. In Which More Boundaries are Set, Trust Confuses Peter, and They Establish a Plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strayed off PoV on the last chap, sorry bout that!
> 
> Back to Peter-Centric! Although it might wander again.
> 
> More facts because no one's asking.
> 
> Peter's unstability is more so linked to his mental swings, not his emotional ones. For example: when he's in a state of mind thats more stable, he's likely to be more calm. However, it doesn't control whether he feels something else. So if he's in a more stable state of mind, he can be happy in it to. But, when its less stable, like when he get manic-manic-cheery, the way the emotions work is a little differently because he's in a state of mind not neccasarily where everything is happy or amusing, it's all just more laughable.
> 
> The stability is also often affected by the environment he's in. In the lab, he's more stabel and human-ish. Outside of the lab, when there's no clear destination or target, it swings aoeund a lot from situation to situation. When's out on a job, then he gets into the scary-spider mindset.
> 
> Sorry for the tangent.
> 
> ALSO Wade still doesn't know Spindler's real name, I just use Peter because Peter's prone to switching his merc-name every few months or so. Plus, it's just easier.

Peter hums, moving some desks around like he did the first time he tried this experiment. Wade looks ready to jump and run, and Peter can tell why.

"Not gonna hurt you," He states, "Just doin' the thing from before. The first time you were in there."

He busied himself with turning on the machinery and watches Wade relax ever so slighlty. He frown. Tensing like that all the time must be awful stressful. Weren't they supposed to be doing something? Oh, right, they still had a job.

Peter finds a chair, pulling it up in front of Wade before thinking better of it and pulling Wade off the chair he was on. He pushes Wade to sit on the chairs he's just pulled up, and plops himself down on the restrained chair. He doesn't particularly want to go flying again, so he sets up the restraints on himself and watches Wade relax a little more. Maybe he should tie his hands up whenever he's around Wade. That might help him not be tense.

Once their both someway comfortable, Peter wastes no time snapping his mental Web out like last time. The mental Web snaps back, and although Peter's ready for it, it doesn't stop him from jolting or his head to slam back into the chair. He makes a pained sound.

[Click! On!]

[[He can hear us again]]

[Can we read his mind, to?]

"Don't you dare," Peter snaps.

[[We can't, anyway, sheesh.]]

[But we know what you're feeling now!]

[[I assume we get a little more connected which each of these connections.]]

"That's a good observation," Peter notes, before the back of his head shoots pain. "Wade? Deadpool? Can you untie me from this please?"

Wade hesitates.

[Don't! Run!]

[[He can hear us.]]

[So? He's tied up!]

[[Doesn't matter-]]

[Although, that does make me think about...] Peter tunes out the rather obscene and inappropriate information he's given next, twisting using wrist in the restraints. He's sure he could get out, but they were made to restrain him, so he likely have to brake a thumb.

"Shut up," Wade grumbles and Peter knows it's to the strange voices and not to him. Peter struggles a bit more, a familiar flair of his own panic shooting up as his vision flashes.

_"let me go, let me go!" His screams tearing through his throat as he struggles._

_Voice jolting and twitching and burning as it runs through him. More volts, more volts. How long can his body last?_

_"What is that?" Voice fearful and strange as the needle comes closer. "What is that?" Desperation as it comes closer, pulling at restraints that refuse to give._

Peter's breath shortens just enough to be noticeable as he goes shock still, pupils dilating in and out.

[He's have a flashback! I think]

[[Didn't he do this one other time before? Something about dates?]]

[Are you untying him?]

[[But we could escape!]]

"I'm not leaving him like this," Wade grumbles.

[[Why! He's literally an unstable scientist spider-type mercenary who has admitted to wanting to experiment on you!]]

"Yeah, but he's been nice to-"

Wade finally undoes the bonds just as Peter blinks his eyes, apparently whatever flashback he'd had or hadn't had is gone.

"Oh, you undid them? When did that happen?" Peter frowns, "Well, thanks." He grins wide, popping up, standing on two legs. Face inches from Wade's before he uses his spider legs to carry him away. He grabs his mask and cloak, but doesn't put them on. "We can leave now, my moods over!"

Wade walks out the door, grabbing his mask on the way.

~

Things have relaxed now. It's been an hour since the lab, and Wade is sitting in the kitchen. Peter is off doing who knows what upstairs.

As if his thoughts are on cue, the ceiling breaks. He jumps, hands flying instinctual to his weapons and turns. Peter is hanging out of a large hOle in the cieling, apparently by just one foot. He waves, smiling cheerily before he uses his spider legs to swing back up. There's some sounds and then a bed falls through the hole, followed by other furniture. Wade stares.

Peter pushes more furniture through the whole. He'd put off making his web for to long, and vomiting this morning had been an experience he didn't want to repeat every morning until Deadpool leaves. He hums, breaking the floor some more. He'd been lucky no major wiring was in the floor, but the thought was second as he pulled out chunks of wood. The process was rather slow, as he didn't have something like a sledgehammer or chainsaw to break the floor with. Just his hands.

Wade's been staring at him with this unreadable emotion for a while now. Peter misses being able to see his eyes. He should use his first favor on that. No masks in the house.

[Why is he breaking the cieling?]

"I need to remove the floor of my room to build a web," Peter responds casually.

[[You can still hear us? But last time it was only for like, five minutes!]]

"I assume the time I can hear you will continue you to grow with every connection," Peter responds, accidentally stabbing his hand with the edge of some rather jagged pieces of torn wood. He ignores it in favor of ripping out another chunk of woof flooring.

[That looks like it hurt.]

"It did," Peter responds.

[[Don't you have something other than your hands?]]

"I think their all in the lab, though," Peter responds, "And I've already started."

Wade gets up, hurrying to go up the stairs. 

[[What the fuck, Wade?]]

Wade appears at the doorway, and sets to work helping Peter. Peter frowns at him. "You don't have to help."

[Yeah, you really don't.]

[[Aren't we scared of him?]]

Peter winces, but Wade clicks his tongue. "But that delicious ass," he says by way of argumemt.

[Who cares? I mean, I'd love to do things to it, to, but aren't we scared of him?]

[[It's not like he wants us to be friends!]]

"Hey!" Peter yells, a little a fronted and somewhat defensive, "Being friends would be awesome."

Some spiders chitter at him about his earlier opinions on the topic. Peter chitter back something like  _shut up._ Wade's staring at him again.

[This is not you treat friends.]

[[Well, he is insane.]]

"You wanna be friends?" Wade questions. Peter blinks.

"Is that a question for whether I want us to be friends, or an invitation to be friends?"

"Last one." Wade responds, and Peter blinks a few times to make sure he's heard the man right.

"But, aren't you like, scared of me or something? Because we can't be friends if you're scared of me - it doesn't work like that-"

"A little."

"Friends would be great."

There's a little click in Peter's mind and he refuses to forget this. There's nothing but silence and Wade's Neverending rambles for the rest of the time they use to tear out the floor and ceiling.

~

It's a few hours after the successful destruction of the floor when Peter finally crawls out of the Web he's made. Whenever Wade looks over in his direction, there's just an ever growing mass of white stretching from the first floor to the second floor cieling.

Peter walk out with his hands in front of him, and Wade raises an eyebrow - a gesture that can be seen under the mask.

"Cuff me," Peter states.

[[What?]]

[Cuff him? Oh, is this a bondage play because the things we could do-]

[[Stopping you there.]]

"Why?" Wade asks, curious. Peter looks at him strangely, as if trying to find a way to word an answer.

"Because," Peter says slowly. Not unlike he is talking to a child, but the way Peter is looking up, Wade's pretty sure the tone of voice is being directed at himself, not Wade. "Because we're gonna go on a sorta job to kill the man who kidnapped you, and you need to to trust me. When I was restrained in the lab, you were more relaxed. So, if you cuff me, you'll be more relaxed and trustful?" Peter's voice takes on a questioning lilt towards the end.

[Will we get to play with you to, because we could work on and daddy kink and-]

"Ew, that's gross." Wade comments.

[True, but we could totally do a bondage play-]

Peter frowns, taking a small step back. "I'd appreciate if you took my consent on that matter. Or any."

[[Didn't you like, purposefully flaunt your body at us all day?]]

[Yeah! You kept arching your back and winking at us!]

Peter regrets everything. He doesn't like this. Sex was only on his terms. He could flaunt and tease and anyone could reciprocate but he did not like people discussing sex with him, without actually talking to him.

Wade seems to tense the more uncomfortable Peter appears, which makes Peter frown. This was all so confusing. What exactly did Wade feel towards him? Peter bites his lip, keeping his hands up to Wade.

"If you touch me," he whispers icily, "In a way I don't approve of, I will find a way to make you stay dead."

"Okay, spin-doll, whatever you say," Wade responds agreeingly. "Rape is bad, anyway."

[Yeah, rape is awful!]

[[Awful. No rape. Kill rapists.]]

Peter relaxes slightly, forgetting the earlier conflict. He holds up his hands expectantly. "Cuff me."

[[This is not how trust works.]]

[Yeah, we can't just trust you because you're tied up!]

Peter frowns. "But, it relaxes you," he states, "isn't that trust?"

[[Just because you're relaxed doesn't mean it's trust!]]

[We just felt less threatened.]

Peter frowns. He doesn't understand. For him, trust means spider sense doesn't go off. He's permenantly relaxed. There's always a constant buzz at the base of his skull if he's near dangerous people. If people aren't dangerous, he doesn't notice.

Then again, everyone he sees makes his skull buzz. Even now, in his home, whenever someone walk to close to the safehouse, his skull makes a very faith buzz. Wade doesn't make his skull buzz on a cosntant basis, like most do. It unnerves and uneases him, but he doesn't question it.

"Oh," Peter says glumly, entire excited posture wilting. His hands falling to his side. Why was this side confusing? He should've just left Wade. Then he could have killed the man, and not gotten into this whole mess of feelings. Why does he even care what Wade thinks? He's worked with tons of mercs before and not cared! Why was this different?

[We'd be way more trusting if we had control over-]

Peter'so entire body goes shock still. Nobody controls him. No one. He will never be controlled again. He won't be controlled. Not now, not ever again.

"I will not controlled," he hisses, "Never again."

[Not that! Just control over-]

"Not ever!" Peter yells, and his mind clans with alarm bells as his vision spots.

[I know! But control over-]

Peter'so pupils dilate as his mind slips away, his vision replaced.

_The mission walks down the street, hood down. Their afraid and paranoid, Peter narrows his eyes._

_"Quick and clean. No evidence. No body." The repeating voice mumbles in his mind._

_Peter screams. Volts travelling from his skull to his toes. Man repeating gibberish of Russian words._

_"Kill him,"_

_Kill, kill, kill, mission, kill, mission, controlled, soldier-_

Peter screams, digging his finger nails into his palms. Blood already begining to flow. A small but of venom dripping in from the one finger, which all sends bruise like pains down his arm. Wade takes a step back, obviously startled. Peter hits the wall next to him with the side of his fist, and hits it again to ground himself.

[No control over you!]

[[Yeah! None!]]

[Just over the situation, not you!]

Peter continues hitting the wall, letting the bones snap and break. His hand becomes a mangled mess, and he's glad it isn't the one with the metal insert. His ears ring and he squeezes his eyes shut against the barrage of flashbacks.

"I will not be controlled!" He shouts, "Never again!"

[We don't wanna control you!]

[[Just the situation!]]

Peter growls.

"Hey baby boy, calm down a little, please?" Wade speaks up.

Peter's body goes shock still, eyes fixed upon the merc. The merc's body is tense and rigid, but there's a bit of concern shown in his posture. His hands are raised in surrender. Peter bites his lip. Gnaws at it really, small chunks of his bottom lip actually coming off and falling to the floor. Blood beginning to gush freely, mixing with venon and slowly stain his chin.

"Control... the situation?" Peter murmers, his braim wants to forget - he fights it.

[Yeah!]

"How?" Peter inspects his hand, bones stick out of it at odd angles, blood covers it. His fingers are crooked and bent in all the wrong ways in several places, and the side of his mangled hand is bruised. He goes about snapping all the bones back together, small giggles escaping him.

[Well, just like, let us do stuff?]

[[No more threats.]]

[Ooh! Let us plan out the mission-]

"Not a mission, job." Peter snaps. "I do not do missions anymore. I am not controlled."

"Right, right, job," Wade responds, before egrumbling to the boxes. "Shut up, seriously."

The boxes respond by screaming. Loudly. Peter covers his ears and much to his horror, this does nothing to block the sound. He hisses, growls, then glares. It does nothing. His brain takes this moment to forget everything that's happened in the past five minutes.

He perks up, brightening noticeably and he grins. "Why is everyone screaming?"

~

Peter and Wade have talked. Their friends now, apparently. Wade and him have equal authority over the job. Peter refuses to give up his fifteen favors. Wade refuses to let Peter throw away the fish in the fridge. It's irritating.

Wade still gets tense if Peter's a foot or two away from him, and Peter still snaps randomly. But the fact that they've progressed this far in two days must mean soemthing, they reason.

[[Yeah, that you're both bat shit.]]

[Crazy.]

"Hey," Peter and Wade argue half-heartedly, both somewhat zoned out. Peter has the blueprint of the building he was supposed to transport Wade to, and they've been studying it for hours. The sun is low, but they both don't notice.

Peter absentmindedly tosses a moth into his mouth. Wade shoves a handful of potato chips in his. 

"What if we go through here...?" Peter starts. But they both realize immediately that it wouldn't work and they groan in resignation. "We're fucked."

"I say we blow that shitshow up and go our separate ways," Wade responds. Peter sighs. They both sigh. They know that can't happen.

"How about we revisit that I fake-transport-you-in-order-to-infiltrate- hey wait a minute, I have a plan!" Peter yells, and Wade prepares himself to hear the exact same plan that's been proposed before. By now he's aware of how utterly forgetful the spidery merc is, though he tries not to get to irritated by it.

"What is it, baby boy?" Wade responds warily. Apparently, at some point, Peter had also lost the ability to hear the boxes. Something he either hadn't noticed, or hand given to much thought about.

"I can pretend to translate you, but use an empty van - then, when I'm in, Ill sneak you in using this door -" Peter points eagerly at a door on the blue print. "Then..."

The plan is pretty good. They have to work out a few tweaks but hey, it's the best one they've got. Wade and Peter are pretty content.

They're both extremely excited for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop yup end of the chapter, isn't that wonderful? I promise actual plot is gonna come up soon.


	8. Fuck is Said A Lot and Jared Is Almost Forgotten In The Trunk and Plot's Almost All Set Up and Fuck Fuck Fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you know this was hard af to write. I started, 10:34, Feb 6th. It's not 12;42 an, Feb 10th.

" _Fuck!_ " Peter shrieks, tearing off his mask. He paces, snapoing his fingers as he twitches and fidgets, gnawing at his lip. Pincers clicking and spider legs whirring in action ands frustration fills him. He begins to chant. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking, fuckity, fuck,  _I will kill them all those pieces of absolute fucking shit!_ "

Beside him, Deadpool is standing rather still but going through a similar crisis. " _You_   _Cock-sucking dickwad, trash smuggling fucker!_ " He screams, and he begins to ramble. "Motherfucking shit-bag I swear when we're done with you hell won't be able to do anything worse! You whore-shaking, two-bit dingle fuck!"

[Ass Butt!]

[[Wrong fandom.]]

[Fucker!]

[[Cunt sucking, dick shaoed, chewEd up gum wad underneath some bleacher in a burnt down school!]]

[Elephant sized Dick getting a fucjibg blow job from a trump faced maggot!]

* * *

**THIRTY MINUTES, FIVE SECONDS AGO.**

* * *

Peter drives the van to the adress, propping his legs on top of the steering wheel and reclining the seat as he calls the client. He's dubbed the man Jared. He props the phone in between his ear and shoulder so he can rest his hands under his head.

"Hey, Jared!" Peter says excitedly, "Finally have your package! Open up the doors now, kay?"

"My names no- forget it, yeah, okay.." Jared responds. The garage door opens in the building, a fifty something story tower. Peter drives in, still just using his legs so he can recline. He almost crashes the van trying to park it by bending his body in a truly flexible manner to use his hands to brake. Once he's done, he hops out, looks around for cameras, and then kills everyone in the room in under five minutes.

It's very simple. There's thin spiderweb wrapped around his wrist and attached to very sharp, but pretty small blade. A few flicks of his wrist and everyone is dead. Silently. He's always been good at that. The plan - what was the plan? Peter chutes to the spiders, who he's informed of the plan. He's not sure why he's never thought of this before. He probably has and forgetten.

He walks quickly towards the elevator, taking the pass from one of the corpses to open it and head up. He needs to get on the first floor. He's three stories below the ground. Peter slides the blades back into his Web shooter, which is really more a wrist gadget than anything. A few seconds later, once he's sure their loaded up right, he steps out onto the first floor.

The next part is simple - pull the fire alarm. He does this, using a Web barely visible to stick and then tug. A few seconds later, while the fire alarm turns on he checks a screen on his wrist gadeget/Web shooter, and taps a few buttons. He'd hacked in using a virus prior, and he quickly begins to use the security measures to what he needs.

He walks quickly to a back door, ignoring the rush of people who all seem to ignore the  _out in a calm and orderly fashion_ part of every fire drill. He clicks another button, and the door unlocks with the clicks of bolts and whir of machinery. Cranking sounds as gears turn on the locking mechanism. He turns away, tapping more buttons furiously as more screens light up and show him security feeds.

Peter begins his movement towards the stairs, which he'd locked off with previously mentioned hacked features. More buttons being clicked as he hurries up, using his spider legs for faster travel. Deadpool is to come soon, but not yet. The security cameras haven't been cut out - he's doing that now, as his virus finally finishes. (It hadn't finished before.) He sends a quick message to Deadpool, and routes the quickest way up to the top.

By now, he's sure Jared and his large security detail are aware that the fire alarm was faked. That's good. The more aware the better. They don't know he's into their system, yet. Peter finally shoves himself out of the stairs, bumping into Deadpool. They don't bother with greetings, simply turning to the next elevator to take and running in whilst Peter deletes the safety mechanism that makes them go slower.

The elevator skyrockets upward.

"This is going along rather well," Peter comments, smiling widely at the other merc. Although he is exuding a rather manic-cheeriness, his eyes show a glint of something cold and deadly. Deadpool would have shivered had something similar not been hiding in his own eyes. Besides, neither could see the others eyes - courtesy of the mask.

That's the thing with mercenaries of questionable sanity. For the most part, their eyes are the most telling. That's why the masked ones are always the worst. It's horrifying to look into a sane man's eyes and expect mercy, but seeing none. It's worse to know an insane man's eyes hold everything and not being able to see them.

Frustrating, truly. "Just swimmingly," Deadpool agrees.

There's a snap of Peter's mental web, and he doesn't go flying quite as badly, though his back still hits the wall painfully.

[Oooonnnliiiinnneeee]

[[Ew. Hello, spindly.]]

[Capitalize!]

"Hello," Peter says conversationally. The elevator dings, and they both run out in different directions.

The next part is a little tricky. Peter has to run down and place and manually rewire a few things, and Deadpool has to place a bomb in a specific place. There's the ripping of metal from the wall, and Peter's fingers gain burns as he touches bare wires with no fret nor worry for his fingers.

When he's done he shoves the metal back on, and heads over to the lab, grabbing some chemicals and shoving them in a pouch on his belt, before taking a bunch of others. Then he heads back down to the elevator, where Deadpool is practically bouncing.

[Back!]

[[Guess we do have a range!]]

[Good test!]

[[To that fucker!]]

Deadpool has started back up with his usual rambles, and Peter doesn't listen as they jump in the elevator and he works his magic again. The elevator starts going up, and a minute later they both walk out aND head down the same hallway.

Peter raises one foot and slams it down against the metal that's fallen over the door. It bends, and one kick more, the whole thing flies off and across the room. Peter walks in with Deadpool, smiling serenely as his pincers slide out.

"Hello!" He singsongs, "I've brought a friend!"

~

In ten minutes, Deadpool has brought the man to a sniveling mess of tears and sobs. Peter has been watching with a rapt interest, noting the man's behaviour with vulture-like interest.

"I'll tell you everything!" The man sob, "Just please, please, stop!" He begs. Peter blinks, getting up and pulling Deadpool's and back when he aims a gun at the man's temple.

"Tell us everything?" Peter questions. "What do you mean?"

[Everything of what?]

[[Shot don't kill him something else is at play here!]]

[Gasp! Conspiracy?!]

"Please don't kill me," the man sobs. Peter clicks his pincers together. "I didn't know!" Jared cries.

"Tell us everything?" Peter repeats in attn agitated tone.

"About Weapon X!" The man yells. "Why they want Deadpool and you!"

Peter stops. The world freezes. "Me?" He whispers. "If you don't start talking, I will invoke more pain than you could ever imagine." He growls, and the man's snivels.

"Their finding all their failed serum experiments!" The man yells, "and all their failed soldier experiments! They want them all back to test! I have the files! Please, take them, just don't hurt me!"

The man, with shaking hands and racketing sobs, opens up a file cabinet and shoves the file at them. Files. Plural. The entire drawer is filled with it. Peter growls, snatching one at the top which should hold the summary. He and Deadpool read it, and there's a moment of quiet before Peter screams, and uses a foot top shove the desk against the wall. It slams, and there's a thud as the man smashes against the wall, pinned by the desk. Small cracks from his ribs. The man sobs harder.

" _Fuck!_ " Peter shrieks, tearing off his mask. He paces, snapoing his fingers as he twitches and fidgets, gnawing at his lip. Pincers clicking and spider legs whirring in action ands frustration fills him. He begins to chant. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking, fuckity, fuck,  _I will kill them all those pieces of absolute fucking shit!_ "

Beside him, Deadpool is standing rather still but going through a similar crisis. " _You_   _Cock-sucking dickwad, trash smuggling fucker!_ " He screams, and he begins to ramble. "Motherfucking shit-bag I swear when we're done with you hell won't be able to do anything worse! You whore-shaking, two-bit dingle fuck!"

[Ass Butt!]

[[Wrong fandom.]]

[Fucker!]

[[Cunt sucking, dick shaoed, chewEd up gum wad underneath some bleacher in a burnt down school!]]

[Elephant sized Dick getting a fucking blow job from a trump faced maggot!]

"Fuck!" Peter screams rather unhelpfully, and he grabs the files that would most likely hold him and Deadpool, shoving Deadpool his as he skims through his own. "Fuck!" He repeats. He starts chanting it again, fury ripping through his veins. Spiders chittering their similar opinions on the subject.

Deadpool's hands are shaking in fear, much like Peter's, but there still reacting violently. Throwing things around the room and destroying furniture whilst verbalizing their curse strewn thoughts. At one point they knock out Jared, but that's of little importance.

Once their a bit calmer, Peter shrinks the papers, puts them in a zip lock bag, and shoves them in his pouch. They head down the elevator and fly down the stairs to the basement, where Peter puts some chemicals in things, and the water gushing down from the sprinklers, now armed with a small amount of chemicals, ignites the bombs. Then Peter grabs a vehicle at random and floors it out of there, and he stops five times so they can switch vehicles before he entualky crashes one and they just run back to his safe house.

He almost forgets Jared in the trunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love u all my eyes burn. Comment?


	9. In Which Mental Breakdowns Occur and Plot 2.0 Is Set Up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard af to write.

Memories rush past his head in a blur. He barely gets it to focus on one before another comes in.

_Blue. Down a tube. His elbow itches._

_Cold, cold, so cold it burns. Shaking limbs and blue lips._

_Screaming, thrashing, the cool metal table as he's shoved against it and no bound._

_Gagged, choking, tears and blood an pain._

_Fire in his veins._

_Have to find the end, have to find the end._

_Turn left, dead end - shock! - pain, pain, spasms and twitched._

_Fire in his veins, fire in his veins._

_Screaming, screaming._

_Needle so close to his eye it's blurry._

_Hot, hot, so hot it's cold. Skin being to melt and bubble and turn a shade of pink it's almost red._

_Cruel smiles._

_Pokes and prods, spider sense so stimulated he's paralyzed. Pain. Pain._

_Skin in his back tearing, the sound of blood splattering. More screaming._

_Fire in his veisn, fire in his veisn, fire in his veins!_

_Mouth shredding open, new pincers clipping. Screaming._

_Screaming, screaming, screaming._

_Pen clicking._

_"Perfect subject."_

_Forehead burst open, eyes growing in. Screaming, screaming, screaming, pain, pain, pain._

_Begging._

_Thrashing, screaming, no, no, elbow slamming against metal table. Arms holding him down. Thick straps with frayed edges._

_Fire in his veins, fire in his veins, fire in his veins, FIRE IN HIS VEINS._

"It hurts!" Peter shrieks, "It hurts! Get it out, get it out, get it out!" He begs, clawing at the inside of his elbow. Vision flashing between his lab and theirs.

"Get it out!" He sobs, and he can feel the blue liquid searing through him. He screams, weakly, as he relives the moments. "Fire, fire, fire in my veins," he chants.

There's another scream, this of rage, and he grabs the nearest object - an already destroyed machine he didn't remember the name or use of - and hurls it at the wall. His scream loud and ragged and angry as he stands. His body lashing out as he fights painful past with an infuriated present.

"I will not go back!" He screams, and he chants that to. "I will not go back- Never! I will not go back- Never!" He's slamming something against something repeatedly, it's getting crushed further and further.

His mind blanks again. Another rush of memories.

~

The door opens, and Peter turns to the sound instantly. The lab is destroyed, honestly. Every part of his is ripped or torn or burned or broken. Even the lights on the rather high ceiling are hanging of wires, shattered, or sparking with sudden bursts of electricity. His breath is ragged, and his chest heaves everytime it inhales and exhales. He's panting like a dog, really.

He's on the floor, straddling a table with its legs snapped off and smashing it repeatedly with one of those legs. Metal smashing against metal in a clanging noise that rings through his head, and makes him unable to think of anything else. He smashes the leg on it again, his body vibrating with the sound as he mind leaves again.

"Spin-Doll?" Deadpool calls in cautiously, "I made you some fly soup? Well, I tried to. I've never made fly soup before, so it might taste like shit 'n diarrhea, but..."

"Fire in my veins," Peter says weakly, because the sensation is back, and memories are already starting to rush in like a flood. "Fire in my veins," he insists, scratching at the vein in his elbow again, which causes more blood to pool out.

There's dried blood and scratch marks all over him. Bruises and every manner of injury litter his body, either placed intentionally or caused by an overexertion of some form. Deadpool looks around again.

"Okay baby boy, fire in your veins," he responds placatingly, "Why don't you come with me, alright? I'll get you some soup and we'll see if the fire goes away."

Peter insists again, "Fire in my veins!" But he stands and wanders over to Deadpool on unsteady feet. His brain is broken at the moment. All he can process is the fire in his veins and the promise of its disapearance.

Deadpool leads over to a bar stool and shoves a bowl in front of him, placing a spoon in it and turning to his own, separate plate of food. Peter takes a few bites, and then, finding his body suddenly filled with the sensation of starvation, he eats at a greedy pace.

Slowly, the sensations and memories drain out of him and into a jar at the back of his mind. When he's finally stable enough to be considered normal, he's almost desperate to forget. But he doesn't. The memory of the freak out is seared into him, though a lot of it is a blur. 

He manages a conversation with Deadpool, and then they go downstairs to interrogate Jarred. It's a lot of fun, really, combining there methods. Although most of the memory is forgotten by Peter a few minutes later, as he's still somewhat drained from the mental melt down.

All he knows is this. Deadpool is going to Florida, and he's going to China. Florida has some facility there that has files they need, and China has a facility there that should hold some more files. They've both mutually decided they were working together on this. Sort of. They agreed to stay in touch, as to help the taking down of Weapon X.

Although they both know there's a problem. A very, very significant problem.

Weapon X was a Canadian program. Thought it's spread it's roots to the US, it really doesn't have a place in Asia or Europe at all. Which really means one thing.

There working with someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope u liked it


	10. Plot Halt! Summarize! Drum Roll!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, READ THIS. READ THIS. READ THIS.
> 
> Now that I have your attention. This chapter is mostly just a summary of then next month or two. Ithe is purely to help you understand the relationship and how it's trekked. It is NOT. I reapeat, NOT, an actual chapter per say, but more a summary of everything that's happened between the last chapter, and the next.

Wade and Peter spend a week each scouting out their respective facilities, and agree to call each other in another weeks time. They attack the bases.

Peter and Wade call, they decide what their going to do next. Peter finds out that there might be another facility in a nearby country. Wade says there is defiantly one in fucking Alaska.

For the next two weeks they call once every two or four days, giving each other updates on anything about the facilities.

Peter and Wade's interactions over the phone are strictly professional with a side of flirting or banter.

A week later Peter and Wade have managed to find the facility they were looking for (Peter on Wednesday, Wade on Friday.) They spend the next week scouting out the bases.

The next week on the same days they find the facilites, they infiltrate and attack. They call each other three days later with all the information they have.

They uncover a string of small facilites littered everywhere, and begin to take them down one by one. However, it does not do much, as most of the bases are fake and are simply traps. This takes a month before they get another solid lead again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. Have fun with that.


	11. In Which We All Scream Fuck You Ultron and Oh Shit Hi Dad We Need To Hide.

Peter is currently under three pounds of concrete. It would be easy to remove, but theres also a piece of metal imbedded in his gut and he's not entirely sure he can pull that out without bleeding out immediately. Some of his spiders had been crushed, and he's chittering with the living ones to try and gain some order back in his mind. He's trying to formulate a plan, but all human rationality keeps lieaving him in flashes, and everytime it does he forgets everything. Seriously, going from human-mind-set to spider-beast-mind-set in flashes is such a nuisance.

Peter bites his lip as the ground thunders, obviously from the fight going on. He makes a low whine, clawing at his ear to turn on the comm before snapping his mental web. "Deadpool," He demands, but it comes out more a wail. "Where the fuck are you?"

"The city started rising, I can't get there right now!" Is the response. Peter whines again as his pincers click rapid fire.

"Damn- It-" He takes a deep, painfull breath. "Wait, the city started rising?"

"Yep, that's right Spin-Doll," Deadpool responds, and Peter giggles manically.

"I'm bleeding out, and the city is rising!" He giggles, before his mind does that stupid mind-set swap and he feels instincts he didn't even know existed well up and drown him out for a few breif seconds.

"You good there, Baby Boy? I can't go right now, can you last five minutes?"

"No!" Peter gasps out, "No, ow, ow, ow, ow!" Peter screeches, "Motherfucking bitch sucking shit stained ass full of hell-" He spews every curse word he knows in every language he knows and Deadpool starts to ramble. He chitters to the spider, and they form a plan. He takes a deep breath, and then pulls the concrete and metal out of him. Immediately, all the spiders left converge and web up the wound enough to give him at least thirty minutes. "Okay, I have maybe thrity minutes- Son of a mother _fucker_ \- _I am trying to stay sane here_!" Peter snaps, glaring indignantly at the robot clone, before webbing it over and tearing it's head off.

"Um, I can't teleport.. there?" Deadpool sounds very confused. Peter whines. 

"Fine, fine. I have the files, some spider's will take them to you. I'll figure out what in hell is going on- I AM TRYING TO STAY SANE HERE- I gotta go." Peter cuts out the comm feed with another flick of his mental web, lest he get distracted by the electrical whine it puts out other wise, and webs up the wound more before leaping into a higher vantage point to observe what's going on.

He's in Sokovia at the moment, after discovering a Hydra official might have some files regarding the whole situation about him, and Deadpool was lead to teh same guy so they had decided to meet up at the city. Unfortunately, Deadpool got held back by something and Peter had to stop waiting when the city started exploding. Now Deadpool was stuck at the bottom while the city starts rising. Literaly. Peter can see the Avengers, fighting the weird Ultron clones and Peter sighs. He'd have to interact with them after all, to figure out what was happening.

After a few minutes of rewebbing wounds and mercilessly tearing robots apart, he finally manages to find an Avenger that's less preoccupied. Pulling a Captain America up from dangling off the edge of a bridge, he turns his head to whip around and question the Avenger, just barely remembering to use his mental web to turn on the voice modifier in his throat. Not that he needs it, since his voice was a lot different from his Peter Parker days, but it sounded really cool.

"What the fuck is going on, dear Captain?" Peter questions, giggling a little as he webs a robot flying past and pulls the web quickly, the robot flying towards him before he jumps at the last second and it smashes into the ground, Peter lands daintily on top of it. Captain America seems to be observing the situation to see if he should tell Peter.

"Ultron," He says at last. "He's raising the city up to drop it and destroy the-"

"-Surface of the planet!" Peter finishes with a giggle, "Wow, that's smart! To bad I have shit to do on this godforsaken rock, or I woulda totally helped him. Anyway, I'm connecting to your com line, so talk to you later!"

Peter bunches up his spiderlegs and leaps away before a response is formed, chittering to his spiders to get the files down and the tapping at his webshooter screens to connect to the com line. A few seconds of static, and then-

"What do you got, Tony?" Comes Captain America's voice.

"Connected!" Peter cheers. Then a robot flies at him. "Oooooh you little shit, _I am trying to stay sane, here!_ "

"Who is that?"

"Nothing great. Maybe a way to blow up the city, that'll keep it from impacting the surface. If you guys can get clear."

"Yay! Plan!" Peter cheers, before his wound smarts painfully, "Shit, still bleeding out," He says, cheery tone wilting as he rewebs it. "Hey, so, can we get this done in oh, I dunno, eight minutes? Becasue I'm bleeding out and- I swear to god, Ultron, I am fucking talking here!"

"So what?" Ultron responds.

"So, it's rude, asshole! How are you supposed to better humanity and all that shit if you can't fucking be nice? Also, what's up with your peace bullshit? Blowing up people is not peace! Also, if I dare add, so is being rude!" Peter snaps. Ultron stops. Like, all of his robots stop. Peter continues on, because blood loss tends to make people delirious, okay? "Also, seriously, like, home many people have you killed? You're not being very peaceful, killing people and the like. Also, jesus fucking christ stop bleeding!" He hisses, glaring accusingly at his stomach as he webs it again.

"When I wipe you out, you'll evolve," Ultron reasons. Peter glares.

"From what, dare I ask, will we be evolving _from_?" Peter looks around, gesturing wildly. "Ultron, dear, when this thing falls and odes what you absolutely must intend for it to do, what living thing will, well, live? There won't be something to evolve from! You can't restart the Earth! That's not peace! That's being lazy."

He can hear the chatter in his ear of a different conversation going on. He winces at the sudden over stimulation. "Earlier I saw this red guy, Vision or somethin' was that you? Did you want a human body?"

"I wanted an evolved one."

"I could steal the tech for you, if ya want.' Peter remarks, "On the one condition that is: Don't destroy the world for some bulls hit reason."

"What if I find a better reason?"

"Then do it. I don't give a fuck." Peter giggles, gesturing to himself. "You think I care about a world that's been this kind to me?"

The city jolts, stopping. Peter looks around, giggling. "Was that you? Probably not. There's now way one conversation would get you to see reason! They've found a way to stop this! You have a choice, Ultron dearest! Go to this location, or face failure."

Peter flicks a business card at Ultron, gives him time to read it, and then tears the robot's head off. Then he jumps back in, yelling out to his Com "What was the plan, by the way?"

"Get to the chapel!" Someone yells. Peter giggles, making his way over. He probably athd five minutes now. Tearing off the head of a robot, he begins to Web out the exterior and then the interior with a precision that was unnerving to watch.

The chapel fell silent as the robots got caught in webs and tried to break in. Peter landed saintly on the ground inside, dusting himself off and looking around. Wanda stares at him strangely, and when he's sure the webs will hold, he swings away.

He doesn't know what's happening, he's already forgotten, but when he gets out and runs about for a bit, Hawkeye's trying to save a guy, and are about to be shot at.

He sees the flash, and he knows immediately someone is going to get shot. Shooting a web, he tugs with all his might. The gun moves position seconds before the flash of color stops with a surprised look on his face.

"Spindler?"

"You absolute _fucker_!" Peter seethes, pulling on the Web again until the weird fighter pilot bulls hit jet crashes to the ground in front of him. Leaping over to it, he tears through the glass and pulls Ultram out. "That quick little silver shit is a teenager! What the fuck is wrong with you? You little sack of rotten eggs!" Peter smashes the head repeatedly, until his hands get burned from the damaged wires and metals still sparking oddly. He turns and faces the quick little shit.

"And you!" He yells, pointing, "You self sacrificing asshole! You have a fucking sister!" Webbing him, he throws him on the safety transport at much the same time the rest of the Avengers arrive, having gotten rid of the other Ultron's, apparently. Peter flips them all off, and he webs up the wound with renewed vigor, named Andrenaline. He again doesn't know what's happening, but apparently the city's going to blow up. Stumbling onto the safety transport thing, he changes the Com link to Deadpool.

"I'm safe. Ish." He giggles. "I have maybe two minutes left!"

"Fuck! Where are you?" Deadpool replies.

"On the SHIELD transport thing," Peter replies, watching the city explode. "Pretty lights."

Deadpool appears next to him at much the same time that one eyed fucker, Fury shows up. Peter blacks out before he figures out what's happening. His last little giggle before the world turns black is a simple "Fuck you, Ultron!"


	12. In Which Peter Has a Panic Attack and Everyone (Both Of Them) Just Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little long! Plots coming back, I swearď

Peter wakes up in a hospital bed, with an IV drip in his arm.

He  _screams_ in sheer terror not even a second later, tearing the drip out of his arm and leaping out of the bed. His movement impaired by the sharp pain in his body from the stab wound, which causes him to crash to the ground a screaming, writhing mess.

"No, no, no, no!" He chants, righting himself up and curling into the corner of the floor. Arms curled protectively over his knees as his spider legs bend out in front of him.

He was back. He was back. He was back, and this was it, and it was over. They had found him.

"Spindley! Spin-doll! Baby boy!" The voice pulls him back from the panicked state, and he looks up. Brown pupils small pinpricks and black irises shaking in a rush to focus. He feels his face, and horrified, realizes he isn't wearing his mask.

"Where am I?" He asks, voice high and terrified.

"Safe, baby boy," Deadpool responds. Peter looks around the room, let's his brain focus.

He's not in a hospital room. He's in a crummy bedroom, and the hospital bed is actually just a normal, shitty bed with not sheets. Just a mattress on a headboard. There's and IV drip and some health monitoring equipment, which seems to be of the stolen variety. His breathing evens out. He was safe enough.

Wearily, he snaps his mental Web out. Is lashes back, causing his head to thunk against the wall behind him. Stars and black swim in his disoriented vision for a secodn, and he stays staring at the cieling. Eyes dilating almost like camera lens as they focus. He chitters hesitantly, and some spiders respond back.

He finds out most are alive, but only a few are with him. The dead ones are unrecoverable, and a good three quarters of the living ones made it his home. 

[Is he just gonna stare forever?]

[[Shut up, dumb fuck, he can hear us]]

"Spidey?" Deadpool calls. Peter recoils at the nickname immediately.

"Do _not_ call me that," he hisses, and Deadpool nods. Peter nods. Good. He wasn't Spider-Man anymore. That was gone. There's a few somewhat tense beats of silence in which only the boxes fill with there commentary, which is pretty easy to block out.

"What happened?" Peter finally asks, once he's sure he's sane and _human_. 

"Well, you passed out and dropped like a light," Deadpool begins, "and I caught you - you're as light as a fucking feather, by the way - and teleported us to my home, where I patched you up like a good doctor."

"Wear a nurse uniform, might treat me a little more," Peter grumbles, mostly to himself. It was a habit of his, and he hadn't even realized he'd said it out loud. Deadpool takes it in stride, not unused to Peter's random moments of honest out-loud thinking. They were both insane, and their quirks weren't hard to get used to. Just like how Peter never noticed Deadpool's rambles, or how Deadpool stopped being somewhat afraid of Peter when his sanity wavered or bent strangely.

"Want some food, baby boy? I looked up a buggy recipe. Cricket salad or some shit," Deadpool questions abruptly into the air. Peter perks up.

"Sure," he pipes up, even though his stomach is twisting from the stress of waking up. "But I need to vomit first," he giggles.

"Sure thing," Deadpool responds in stride, not bothering to question it. Peter skips out in search of the bathroom, which he finds by way of smell.

It doesn't smell bad, just like toilet water chemicals and barely used soap. The smell is honestly so overwhelming he ends up getting more sick because of it. The whole place isn't made for his senses, which are so heightened nothing is comfortable unless he makes it.

He knows in other universes, the other Peter's have heightened senses. But none like his. His ears ring if a phone rings in another room. He gets headaches when people whisper. He feels pain when a fly lands on him. He tastes before food touches his lips. He's so used to the constant stream of neverending pain caused by an over exertion of sensory intake, half the time he forgets hes feeling pain until he walks into his safe houses and the world around him becomes bearable.

After Peter vomits what little he has left in his stomach - which he's pretty sure he vomited out in favor of the new one he probably grew - and the subsequent dry heave and gag session, he heads out to Deadpool's living room. His mask is sitting (thrown, by the looks of it) on the coffee table, along with his (ugh) bloody cloak. He pulls on the mask and inspects his shirtless (when did that happen?) body. Blood cakes a lot of his suit, along with the sticky remains of near completely disintegrated webbing. He groans, loud and irritated.

"This is gonna be a bitch to clean," He whines, and he strips from the pants to. Deadpool walks in at that moment, which is the moment Peter is inspecting his (thankfully) untouched underwear.

[HALT!]

[[Naked Spindly???]]

[So sexy]

[[That  _ass_ ]]

"What's wrong with my ass?" Peter asks, mildly offended. "I thought you liked it!"

[We do]

[[Mmmm, yes, we most certainly do.]]

"Oh, okay," Peter relaxes. "Do you have some clothes I could borrow?"

[Say no, say no, say no, say n-]

[[HE CAN HEAR US.]]

[Oh, whoops]

[[Well, now he'll know we're lying if we say no]]

[How did he know I wasn't saying 'say no' because we had none?]

[[Shittttt]]

[Dumb ass]

[[Not as dumb as you!]]

[Hey!]

"Deadpool?" Peter prompts, pushing the (extremely) irritating voices to the back of his head.

"No?" Deadpool says questioningly. Peter giggles, but his eyes are somewhat serious.

"Right, sure, not even a spare suit?" Peter responds, voice questioning and he giggles again.

[Holyyyyyyyyyy]

[[Can you imagaine?]]

"Shut up," Peter and Deadpool snap in unison, before giggling at each other because they'd spoken at the same time.

"Yeah, I have a spare suit. One second, baby boy," Deadpool responds, and Peter nods. Deadpool turns and walks away, and Peter waits patiently in the living room. The very air makes his skin tingle, the dust particles settling on his skin are things he's hyper aware of. They don't burn, necessarily, but their uncomfortable and make him want to rake his very sharp nails down every inch of his skin. Through the hairs in his arms and legs (head, to), he can feel every remote vibration in the air, and there's so much. The spiders chittering to each other fill his ears as they move to perch on his shoulders. It fills his ears with a delicious white noise that, despite causing a painful headache and awful ringing sound to form, block out the other noises that would have droven him insane. He has seven spiders with him. Four of which are Wolf Spiders. The other three he doesn't know.

Deadpool walks in with a suit, and Peter pulls it on. It's loose and heavy, hanging from his body the way a shirt four sizes to big would. Predictable, as Deadpool was larger in size due to the amount of (delicious) muscle on him. Not larger as in four Peter's could fit in him, but he was an inch shorter and the other man had much more definable (discernable) muscles. Absent mindedly, Peter rubs a thumb over the sleeves and he hates how loose it is. The residual smell of blood suffocates him in copper and he can practically taste the gunpowder. Deadpool's smell was distinctive, but intoxicating (in a bad way) this close. He gets dizzy, just for a second.

The clothes are to loose, and he hates it. Every part of him screams to tear the cloth off. Loose clothing reminded him of normal clothes, of hospital gowns, of everything he didn't want be reminded of. His discomfort shows on his face, as he insects the loos sleeves and loose shirt and wrinkles his nose at the smell.

[Something wr-]

Peter could distinctly feel the disconnect. Strange, he could hear them longer than last time. Shrugging it off he pushes back his discomfort and looks at Deadpool with an expression of manic cheeriness. "Food?"

"Yup," Deadpool responds, and walks into the kitchen. He comes back with a bowl of what honestly looks like insect salad. With crickets in place of lettuce. Was that scorpions instead of crutons?

Peter beams, grabbing the bowl and throwing a scorpion into his mouth. It crunches and he feeds the spiders still chittering in his ears a few crickets and let's them snatched up fruit flies. He's handed a spoon.

There's a few minutes of near silence as Deadpool rambles to himself and the spiders chitter and Peter eats. Peter's beginning to realize that silent moments are really just him being quiet, which he's perfectly fine with.

After a while they start talking and the files are brought up. Deadpool goes to get them, and they look over them. There's more of the same, hard drives full of information of them, but mostly just facilities that are interested in them and it's really more nothing. Some files Peter couldn't retrieve, and other files refer to them.

The files make him feel like he's not in control, and the added situation of being in Deadpool's home adds to the feeling. Soon, he begins spiraling into panic, and then eventually his breathing shortens.

Deadpool notices, just as Peter's vision starts spinning and he feels sick. He can feel the inner spider, trying to control but he shoves it back with a considerable amount of effort and focuses on the sense of panic rushing through him.

Peter's sweating to much now, and Deadpool's voice filters in.

"Spindly, breathe. C'mon, you need to breathe."

Peter's breath shortens more. He was not in control, this was wrong. He couldn't be controlled. No, no, no. Peter feels tears burn at his eyes and wishes he could scream and react in at different way. The feeling adds to his panic, because ehe can't even control himself.

There's a moment of genuine silence before Deadpool speaks up again.

"You are in control. It's just a little harder now, baby boy. That's all. Get back your breathing, then you can tell me what to do. You are in control."

Peter focuses on breathing. He was in control. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the panic blaring in his brain lessens until his body starts to comply to wishes.

"I won't be controlled," Peter states once his voice was back. "I won't be controlled!"

"Nope, course not baby boy," Deadpool agrees.

Panic attacks, anxiety attacks, break downs, melt downs, full blown freak outs, anything of that sort. They weren't uncommon to the two, and they both had their own ways with dealing with them in a(n unhealthy) manner that left them somewhat okay.

They were both far better at helping someone else out then helping themselves. Comes with the territory of insane. Not that they really ever did help anyone, but the fact remained. Peter squeezeso his eyes shut for a second, before the panic fades. He could barely remember waking up, and the memory of the attack is beginning to slip away from him like quicksand.

"Take your mask off," Peter demands, "Then tell me your name. Then make me more food."

The demands are not him taking advantage of the situation. It's him taking control of it. Peter's life revolved around control, and his surplus of it. Losing control was not something he could have, he did not want these orders followed. He needed it.

And Deadpool understood that.

"Wade," Deadpool says finally. "Wade Winston Wilson at your service! Do you want more of the same thing?"

"Yes, please!" Peter cheers, giggling. Deadpool won't take off his mask yet. He's not ready, he needs his own level of control.

And Peter understood that.

It's strange really, but the understanding was so deep and true and almost subconscious. They hadn't talked very much except brief calls over the phone. Peter had twenty favors and he had managed to get everything he wanted without using one. Deadpool no longer felt distrust towards Peter because after knowing him just a little, he recognized the favors for what they were. Peter couldn't not be in control of a situation, it led to full scale panic. The favors were the insurance that insured his control.

Deadpool's issues were more deep seated, though they included his looks. He diliked being ignored, he couldn't be in hospital settings. He killed for the mind numbness. He hated himself, he was in constant pain. But he didn't have control issues the way Peter did, and he already knew the other merc didn't seem to notice his scars, so after a minute of mixing together insects in his kitchen, he pulls it off.

Peter eats silently. Deadpool rambles. He never really stops. Peter understands the coping mechanism.

It's all sort of strange, but they both understand. They're smart, and they'e mercenaries. It was in their job description to observe and read people. They were insane. Their screws were a little loose, even though everything they did seemed complex and unrelated, it was easy to see the connections when you thought the same way. Really, in the end, they had simple minds.

So if Peter snaps out his mental Web when he hears Deadpool's frustration so he can talk to the boxes to, it's because Peter understands. And if Deadpool hands Peter the remote because he looks unnerved and he knows it's because he can feel the control slipping away, it because how knows. And if maybe they both avoid certain topics because they both know the other might react negatively, it's because, in the end, the insane are quicker to understand the insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments?


	13. In Which They Check Up On The newbie Trio and Realize That Shit Is Awkward (And Pretty Fucking Sexual)

The TV is playing some boring news channel neither of them care for. Mostly, the reporter is rambling on about the aftermaths of Ultron, and the Avengers. Spindler is mentioned as well, albeit briefly on this particular channel. Others were ranting about the Avengers consorting with dangerous and disturbed individuals. There was some coverage on the new Avengers, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff AKA Scarlet Witch and Quick Silver. Also, Vision.

Peter's interest is held by the coverage of the twins, as he remembered saving Pietro. He wonders if the trio of newbies are doing alright. However, no one seems to be covering that, so he goes back to glaring violently at the TV.

"What's up, baby boy?" Deadpool- No, Wade speaks up from his spot in the corner. He's cleaning his guns. Everytime he glances up, without fail, he has been met with the sight of Spindler glaring violently at the TV.

Peter rubs at his skin, irritated by the loose clothing. "No one's talking about the newbies. I want to know how they're doing," he grumbles.

"Why don't you go see for yourself?" Dea- Wade asks curiously. Peter contemplates this.

"Yeah, okay." He shrugs, pulling himself up to stand. He's mostly healed, which is nice. "I should wash my clothes first," He states, pulling the cloak and suit up. "Bathtub?"

"Washer?"

"That works."

~

Three hours later, Peter's cloak and the remains of his suit are washed though not undamaged. The sewing job would be a bitch, but he figures he doesn't need to do it right now. He just wants to go visit the twins and Vision and see how they're doing. He didn't get shot at just so the person he was protecting would die. Besides, he remembered Pietro and Wanda. They'd only met for a few seconds, but he liked the way they felt on the mental web. 

Tugging on the familiar clothing and feeling it's skin tight press makes him feel immediately a hundred times more at ease, and he gets lost in the familiar feel of it. Once he's done with that, he tugs on his mask again (He'd taken it off at some point, to make Wade more comfortable.) and heads out. Their in Wade's safe house near Sokovia at the moment, so he sets about finding if he has any private planes to fly him about or something.

"Helicopters are easier to get," Wade grumbles. Peter giggles.

"Really? Then I don't need a plane!" Peter giggles, "Just a helicopter."

An hour later he's gotten a helicopter from _somewhere_. Whether the process of procuring the helicopter in such short time was through a necessarily legal or even altogether ethical trade was unknown to even Peter, as he had forgotten pretty much everything including why he got the damn thing in the first place, by the time it got there. Staring up at the loud, flying vehicle in confusion, he turns to Wade.

"Why did I get the helicopter?" He asks curiously, a slightly manic giggle at the end of his words. Wade, used to Peter's completely damaged memory, responds easily.

"Wanted to check on the newbie Avengers," He responds, "C'mon baby boy, let's get you and that ass up there."

Peter, taking this in stride and having a vague memory of saving a certain Quick Silver, grins and grabs Wade's arm. Wade has a moment of confusion before Peter bunches up his spider legs and leaps into the helicopter. Wade screams. Peter laughs. The helicopter driver (The procedural process of grabbing said driver was also through the same method as the helicopter, and whether that was legal or ethical was still unknown to both Peter and possibly even the dri- pilot himself.) Peter giggles and doesn't bother closing the door or buckling himself in before he turns to the pilot.

"God bless America!" He shouts, before a loose stream of giggles escapes him. Then, hey, he's actually kind of sane.

Plopping down in a seat by Wade once the helicopter starts moving, he turns to face the other merc. "Hello, how are you today?"

"You sound different," Wade notes, "Sane?"

"Very."

Wade rambles and Peter waits in silence until the sanity goes away.

~

When the helicopter lands on a field nearby a nondescript SHIELD base in the middle of nowhere, without setting off it's radar or various otehr scans, SHIELD is immediately on edge. When Peter and Wade jump out and Peter proceeds to grab a gun from Wade's belt and shoot the helicopter without even looking behind him, prompting an explosion, the edge gets a little more.... edgier? SHIELD personal armed with guns and kevlar begin to run up. Peter and Wade seem very unimpressed nor even caring of this, and it shows on their faces despite the masks covering them. Really quite alarming how well Deadpool's mask can emote and how Spindler's mouth can display so much.

Peter taps at the screen on his web shooter, hacking is definitely harder, as this was developed by d- Stark, and he hadn't used a virus prior. However, he doesn't really need to hack much, and he can get most of the information by skimming through. D- Stark had shown him tricks and shortcuts, after all. Peter finds what he looks for quickly, and then gets off the hacking before SHIELD can hack into him. That would cause awful problems he didn't need.

"Found them!" Peter cheers, and Wade whoops. Peter leads the way, Wade's rambling fills the silence that really isn't there. Peter's ears ring dully, and his entire body shakes with sense overload. He can hear every click of machinery, every whir of electricity. He can hear, no, feel every vibration as people chase after them.

So when he finds out that the SHIELD base is incredibly low tech for something Stark based, he is immensely happy. Pushing his way through the door and wandering into the hallway, he lets his little screen blueprint guide him to the designated room for the newbies. The SHIELD officers seemed to have stopped following him a little bit before hand (lies, he just lost them), so his ears ring a little less. Yawning and stretching as he raises a foot, and then kicks the door open, he grins.

"Heeeeellloooooo!" He drawls, throwing his hands in the air and leaning back on one leg briefly. "How are you doing? I came to check up on you!"

"Spindler?" Comes a distinctly accented voice. It sounds like Wanda.

"Hi Wanda!" Peter responds, grinning like an honest maniac (which, to be fair, was what he was.). He filters in the sight of the three sitting on various beds in the large room. "What are you guys even doing in this dump, anyway?"

"We found out Ultron still has a body left, we're hiding out," Wanda responds.

Peter, Wanda, and Pietro all have a shared, but brief history. They'd been together during some training, back when Peter was being brainwashed and manipulated. He'd been mindlessly following, then, afraid of Hydra. The trio had shared some friendly chemistry, but ultimately their differing views of Hydra back then drove a wedge that hadn't really let any chance of a genuine friendship grow.

"That's nice!" Peter responds, "But why do you three share a room? The other ones don't have to-"

"Wanda, who is this?" The voice is accented, but not in the way Wanda's is. Vision.

"Oooooh, you're the other newbie!" Peter gasps excitedly, forgetting what he was saying entirely. Peter steps into the room further, as a quick flash of silver brings Pietro to stand by Wanda.

"Spin-Doll, how long do we have before the other Avengers come over to our little sleep over party?" Wade asks, and Peter turns to him, forgetting about the newbie trio.

"No idea, but they look fine and we really only came to check up, sooooooo," Peter begins walking out the door, like he hadn't just kicked it down. Then, he spins around with a sudden, dawning realization. "Before you guys went and joined over here, did anyone at the Big H mention something 'bout me or Wade?"

"No, as far as we know, they haven't been looking for you, why?"

"No reason!"

Peter skips out the door, and and realizes he doesn't have a way to get back home. Frowning, he sighs and pulls Wade in a random direction.

After about twenty minutes of mindless wandering and being chased by SHIELD, losing them, and then being found again, he happens accross a garage. Looking around, he quickly finds an armored van at random. SHIELD's safehouse really was low tech. Wade seems to catch on to Peter's thought process (that or Peter said it outloud at some point.), so they quickly hotwire the vehicle and floor it.

~

Seventeen vehicles later, they're somewhere in Ohio. Peter's safehouse there is actually one he's used recently, so it's up-to-date in everything. Wade was prepared to stay in America, so he has a duffel bag full of files and extra weapons and suits and such. The entire second floor is missing, which is how most of Peter's safe houses are, however, so there is no guest room for Wade. Which is fine, since Wade was willing to sleep on the couch.

The relationship between Wade and Peter was a very strained one. It was awkward, since they were both still wary of each other, despite this, they had said they were friends. Since they didn't trust each other, but were friends, it lead to an odd predicament.

Wade was wary of Peter, who he knew still held fifteen favors over him and had admitted multiple times to wanting to experiment on him. Despite trying to make peace and be friends (The phone calls were strange, since they flirted all the time on those). Plus, there was the fact that they flirted constantly, and Peter kept flaunting his body whenever he caught Wade staring or one of the boxes mentioned it.

Peter was wary because Wade was a new variable in his life, and it was hard to decide how to react towards the man. Further, he was totally attracted to the other merc, who's muscles looked delicious. And, despite the other merc constantly mentioning how great Peter's ass was, he thought that Wade's ass was far superior. To be honest, he was down to fuck.

Concerning since Wade wasn't just yet, though he was getting there.

Also concerning: They barely knew each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 11/03/18 this chapter has been beta read by me, the new beta reader, irleragon. I love this story so much. Thank you roanoaks for letting me beta read! I'll go back and fix all chapters eventually.


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